“Cousin?” Shawnrik’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth, food momentarily forgotten. “Then you’re…”
“Also your cousin.”
“Are there any other…”
“Cousins around? No, not at the Institute, at least.”
Shawnrik stared at the Stroml’dier girl. Moments before, he had been a kid with only a quiet grandfather, and now he had a whole branch of family that he never even thought about before.
“You aren’t going to hug me or something, are you?” Sara said, eyeing him. “Not that I could stop you if you wanted to, but I’d rather prefer we didn’t.”
“What? No, I would never do something like that,” Shawnrik replied, realizing that he did in fact feel the urge to reach out and touch his new found cousin, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that she was real.
“Well, I’m glad that is all out in the open finally,” Olivia muttered.
“Wait, you knew?” Shawnrik said turning to the brown haired gypsy girl.
“Well, she is my roommate,” Olivia replied, as if that was explanation enough.
“But you didn’t even try to tell me…”
“Your messed up family is none of my business yet, I’ve got enough on my hands dealing with my own.” Olivia huffed. “Besides, I promised Sara that if you didn’t know that she could be the one to tell you.”
Across the table, Verrian mouthed the word yet to himself, eyeing Olivia.
Turning back to Sara, Shawnrik asked, “So is that why Rigael hates me? Because he thinks that I think I’m too good to recognize him as family?”
“I don’t think Rigael hates you, not really,” Sara replied. “At least, not you specifically. Whether he realizes that or not, I couldn’t tell you. Growing up, there were two people that he idolized more than any others, the first being our father, Warrior Chieftain of the Stroml’dier. The other, of course, was your father, Aerick Heartstone, the only man in the tribe’s recent memory who had completed the Heartstone trial.” Sara looked down at her food, moving the grains around her tray with her utensil for a moment before continuing.
“When the elders found out that your mother was pregnant and your father had asked for her hand in marriage, they did a stupid thing. They forbade it. They told your father that as the holder of the tribe’s secrets, they could not allow him to wed outside the tribe. They told him that he could keep Lilly as a second wife or a mistress, but he must come live with the tribe when he finished his time at the Institute. I’m told that Lilly told him to accept, and she didn’t mind being looked down upon by his tribe as long as she was with him, but anyone that knew your father had to have known what his answer would be. He told the elders that he loved Lilly, and that they and his child did not need the Stroml’dier.”
She looked up at Shawnrik as she finished her tale. “That is when the elders did something that nearly tore the Stroml’dier apart. They told my father to kill yours, saying that the secrets that your father knew were too dangerous for an outsider to possess. My father, being the honor bound idiot that he was, decided to follow their orders. Aerick tried to talk him out of it, but it was all to no avail. The only way that he was going to leave was for one of them to die.”
Shawnrik stared at his cousin. “So, I’m guessing because we lived in Safeharbor together when I was little that my father won?”
Sara nodded, maintaining eye contact.
“My father killed your father? His brother?”
“It was not his fault, the blame lies with the elders,” Sara said, hatred taking control of her features momentarily. “If those old fools would have let him go peacefully, my father would still be alive.”
“Yeah, but if my father would have just…”
“No!” Sara said, slamming a hand onto the table. Noticing that every head in the room had turned her way at the outburst, she lowered her voice and moved closer to Shawnrik. “Everyone knew what your father’s answer would be to such an ultimatum; Aerick Heartstone was not a man to do anything by half measures. If those old idiots and my idiot father had not been so jealous of his prowess, none of this would have had to happen. My brother does not hate you, he doesn’t even really hate your father, but my father deeply ingrained in him the fact that the elders must always be respected and obeyed that he can’t even see who he really hates.”
Shawnrik looked around the table, finding nothing but compassion in his friends' faces. “I think I need to get some fresh air.”
“Shawnrik,” Sara said, grabbing his forearm as he stood from the table. “My brother is young and impulsive. If he does something stupid, please don’t kill him. Give him time to realize who his true enemy is. He’s smarter than he looks; He’ll figure it out in time.”
Nodding, Shawnrik told the table he’d see them at dinner.
Dracair Territory
Death’s Edge
“I swear this forest is trying to kill me.” Rundig said, pulling several long thorns from his chainmail.
“My friend, if this forest was trying to kill you, it would have done it the moment we crossed its boundaries,” Warren said, walking effortlessly through the brambles. “There is more potential violence in this place than any other area I have ever traversed.”
“Yer a druid, can’t you talk to the forest and tell it that we come in peace?” Rundig grumbled to his Human companion.
“Death’s Edge forest, hear me! This heavy footed Dwarf who is carrying more forged metal than some battalions wants you to know that he means you no harm.”
“Oh, listen here, Warren thinks he’s a comedian now,” Rundig said, ambling along behind his companions. “Come back here and I’ll…” Before he could finish his statement, a thin branch slammed into his helmet, nearly knocking him off his feet.
“It looks like this forest doesn’t like you threatening one of its guardians,” Za’erath said, trying not to laugh at his companion’s discomfort. The deeper they moved into the thick underbrush, the more difficult the effort became.
“It’s a good thing that no Dracair will dare enter this forest, because you are all making enough noise to tell every living creature within shooting range exactly where we are,” Elandria said, stepping out of the woods to the group’s right. She had been ranging ahead to look for a better trail and any sign of danger.
“Hey, don’t lump me in with these clowns. Especially that one,” Za’kereth said, pointing to his brother.
“Well, to be fair, you have been humming to yourself since noon.” Trenton said from his position behind the Grey Elf.
“What did you find?” Sergeant Mcdowell said, pushing his way through from the front of the line.
Elandria knew he had seen her returning to the group; the old Dwarf’s eyes were sharper than most Elves. “No better trails than this one, I’m afraid. There is a stream up ahead, and I’ve seen signs of something casing our perimeter, but haven’t been able to lay eyes on whatever it is yet.”
“I’ve seen movement behind us a few times as well.” The voice of Corporal Jameson said, coming from behind Trenton Grimbash, his form completely hidden by the Half-Ogre.
“Bah, I wish Drake was still around to go see what it is,” Sergeant Mcdowell spat.
A moment of silence dropped around the group then as they remembered their fallen comrade. Drake and Bredwin had both died on the raid of the Orc encampment where Ashur, Dunnagan, and Shawnrik had been held. Drake had taken an arrow in the eye, and Bredwin had been beheaded by the Dracair Assassins as they were leaving the area.
“How about you, Warren? Any idea what is out there?”
“If I were to venture a guess, I would say it is the creatures that are called the Death’s Edge Wolverines. Though from what I’ve been able to discover in my research at the tower, they have little in common with their ancient namesake besides a basic similarity in appearance. In fact…”
“Oh good, another lecture in Ethology and Zoology is about to begin. Could we at least find a place with a little m
ore space before you continue this tirade? I feel like this tree is trying to get to know me a little too personally,” Za’kereth said with only the tiniest trace of sarcasm apparent in his tone.
Elandria knew that he really was fascinated by the things that Warren had to say, as he was one of the few people who would listen to the Druid as he talked about various flora and fauna for hours on end. His brother Za’erath would also sit and earnestly listen to anything the druid said, but the priest was like that with everyone.
“Za’kereth has a point,” Sergeant Mcdowell said. “It’s getting late anyway. We should find a place to make camp for the night.” As he finished his statement, he looked at Elandria.
“There’s a small stream up ahead with a little waterfall that we should be able to reach before we lose any light, and there are several good locations for setting up the hammocks.”
“Alright, you heard the lady. Keep the chatter to a minimum and keep your eyes and ears focused. There’s a reason this forest is called Death’s Edge. Let’s be sure to stay on the living side of that edge.” As he moved to resume his place at the front of the group, the Sergeant began to mutter to himself, “Hey, why don’t you go scout Dracair Territory and see if you can find out if there are any more enemies headed our way, he says. Oh, and while you’re out there, look for any information about the boy. Then this morning we find out the durned Princess could be heading through, kidnapped by a durned Changeling!” He snapped a large branch that was impeding his way a little too forcefully.
“It could be worse,” Trenton added his deep voice full of a dark mirth. “They could have actually sent us on a job that was possible.”
Chapter 11
New Arrivals
Year: 3045 AGD
Month: New Year
Fourth Fifthday
Mine
The two remaining Goblins and the guards had finished removing the debris and reinforcing the tunnel several days prior to the arrival of the new batch of slaves. During those few days, everyone at the mine seemed to be at peace. The only work that was required was the removal of refuse and excrement, and like the other tasks over the past few Eightdays, he was not required to even do that.
This had given him a lot of time to think, and to dream. The majority of his dreams he felt were just that, but every few sleep periods he would have a dream that felt like it was something more. He was fairly certain that the things he was seeing during those special occasions were the memories of people and beings that had come before him. How that was possible he didn’t know, but they were much too detailed to be anything else.
To make it worse, even his regular dreams were starting to take on a life of their own. Often during his dreams he would suddenly be above and around his own body in the cell that he shared with the two Goblins. His awareness spread throughout the cave. He could see, feel, and smell everything for a short distance around his body. That distance seemed to be growing slowly over the last few Eightdays. It had started with a vague awareness of things near his body, and little by little the boundaries of this dream awareness had been stretching.
During his last dream, he had seen a deposit of gemstones about a foot below the area that he usually slept. Part of him wondered how his mind made up some of the things that he had been seeing, but another small part of his mind wondered if that was why he had chosen that spot to sleep. Such thoughts, however, had been interrupted that morning when the guards suddenly became much more animated than they had been over the previous days.
Several minutes later, the reason for the sudden renewal in the efficiency of their jobs became apparent. The first thing that the boy noticed was the familiar clink-drag-clink of a group of people chained together, moving as one. Moments later, they began to appear from out of the darkness: a line of desolate souls, resolute in their captivity. His first visual impression of his new cellmates was that they looked cold. White flakes dotted several heads, and their usually dark or light green skin was now a pallid greenish white.
A half-dozen men accompanied the new arrivals, all of them well bundled up in furs to keep the cold at bay. A light dusting of white flakes cascaded off of each of them as they removed their coats and shook them vigorously. Four of them were Grey Elves who wore equipment like that of the guards that he had seen around the mine for as long as he could remember. They went about the work of preparing the slaves to enter the cell, while ignoring the final two Human members of their party.
The first was an older man who was mostly bald, the little bit of hair that remained on the back of his head was gray with a few black hairs speckled throughout. The final member was a man in his twenties; his features indicated his disapproval of everything around him, from his traveling companions to the stone walls that now surrounded him. He looked back in the direction they had come, as if he’d rather be outside than around such filth.
As the final few slaves came into view, he noticed that several of the captives were not Goblins, or at least not of a kind he had seen before. The two final members towered over the others, and he thought their skin would be a reddish-brown when they warmed up.
In front of the two large slaves was a creature that had the same greenish tint to his skin as the Goblins, but was a head shorter than the shortest Goblin he had seen so far. The only other thing that this new arrival had in common with the rest of the Goblins was a pair of large, pointed ears. Though he was shorter than the Goblins, he looked like he might weigh as much as two of them combined, his squat frame possessed an incredible amount of muscle. Out of the entire group, this little powerhouse also seemed the least affected by the cold.
The guards double checked the manacles on each of the slave’s wrists before they began to unlock the shackles around their ankles. As each set of shackles was undone, the younger Human poked each Goblin’s feet with a pin, drawing a small amount of blood. Moments later, the blood dispersed and the wound stopped flowing, but that wasn’t the most interesting part. Each slave that had been poked in such a manner began to quickly regain the color in their skin and extremities.
“Blood magic,” one of the mine guards whispered and spat, making a sign with his hands that the boy had never seen before.
He had been so fascinated by what the young Blood Mage was doing that he hadn’t noticed the older Human male approach his cell until the man blocked his view. Looking up into the man’s brown eyes, he saw nothing short of hatred.
“So it is true. You really don’t remember who you are. Pity, I would love to tell you all about how the battle at Asylum went. Yandarian has other plans for me, however. I am to go north and meet up with several Troll clans for a special mission. Without you or any of your nosey friends to get in my way, I expect it to be an enlightening experience.”
As the man spoke, the boy’s gaze continued to be pulled back to the dagger that the man wore at his side. It seemed a little larger than the ones that the guards wore, but nothing else was apparently special about it, yet for some reason he felt the urge to hold it. The man had just finished his gloating when he seemed to notice the direction of the boy’s gaze.
“Oh, I forgot. This was yours, wasn’t it? So maybe there is a part of you in there somewhere fighting to get out.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Yandarian has plans for you, boy, and I don’t think you are going to like them. If you are in there somewhere, you had better fight with everything you have, because that old Blood Mage is looking for a dozen ways to make you compliant. Once he finds one that he thinks will work, you can be sure he’ll come for you. I saw what you did to his manor. It was pretty impressive and bought you time, but don’t think it’ll keep the old bastard at bay forever. I hear that…”
“Walkins! Get away from him,” the young Blood Mage hissed from across the room. He had just finished his work on the two large slaves.
“Relax, Temendri, whatever your master did seems to have worked, he has no idea who I am,” Walkins said, turning away from the cell. “I didn’t tell him his name
or anything; he’s still your compliant little vegetable.”
“That remains to be seen,” Temendri said, walking across the room. “What is your name boy?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. Do you know who I am?” he replied.
“Of course I do, you are no one. You are an unimportant slave who should do his work and behave if you want to get out of here alive someday.” His disapproval of his surroundings had turned into a sneer of derision when he looked upon the young boy. “Now, let me see your hand.”
Placing his hand through the bars of the cell, he winced when the pin stabbed into his thumb. A large globule of blood welled on his fingers before puffing away.
“The block is still in place,” Temendri said, dismissing everyone else in the room from his thoughts as he pulled out a small notebook and began mumbling to himself. “Unusually high activity in the hippocampus, the subcortex, and the temporal lobe. May be a natural part of the subject’s unique physiology, but recommend…” Whatever the young Mage said after that was lost in the din as the slaves were brought towards the cell.
“Good luck, kid, you might have to show a couple of these idiots who is boss though, some of them are rather rowdy,” Walkins said, looking back towards the boy for a moment before he followed the young Mage, who was wondering back towards the entrance.
One by one, the manacles were unlocked from the slaves' wrists before they were pushed through the open cell door. The boy and the two Goblins that had been with him in the cave-in moved back towards their usual spot in the cell, leaving room for the rest to come in and find a place. As they filed in, most of them didn’t even bother looking around, they just ambled forward and found a place to sit or lay down along the wall. When the strange squat Goblin entered the cell he looked around, his eyes boasting a keen intellect. For a moment, his gaze settled on the young boy, a look of curiosity flashing across his features before he chose a spot along the wall between the two groups.
Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2) Page 16
