“Where are we heading, anyway?” Libby handed the flask to Rhetahn.
“A town called Taglemeiss lies in the center of this mountain ridge,” Dax said. “We’re aiming for the surrounding tunnels. I’ll restock our rations there, then we’ll we skirt around it to the other side. We’ll come aboveground in a valley we’ll have to cross, then go underground again to navigate the next ridge.”
“Why are we bypassing the town?” Rhetahn took a big gulp of water, easing his parched throat. “Wouldn’t it be better to go straight through?”
“It would, but if the dwarves recognize you, it’ll take hours to get away. They’ll be overcome with elation and will insist on a feast to honor your presence.”
“Sounds good to me.” Libby regarded the empty parchment paper with pensiveness.
“We’re in a hurry, remember.” Dax folded the parchment and shoved it in his pack. “The longer we take, the more people die across the Shifterlands.”
The girl’s shoulders sagged. Rhetahn understood why. She possessed a compassionate heart, and she didn’t like the thought of anyone dying under demon blades. However, the key to the demons’ destruction was her own death.
“I attended a dwarf feast once,” he said, to distract her from her distress. “Many centuries ago, in a town close to the West Forest border. It wasn’t as deep underground as this. What a meal. To this day, I’ve never experienced anything similar.”
“What was it like?” Libby’s eyes were wide with interest.
“Quite spectacular. I admitted defeat after the eighteenth course.” That elicited a gasp from the girl and a chuckle from the ground shifter. “Dwarves have a talent with mushrooms and tubers. Even Storren enjoyed the mushrooms and he isn’t fond”—a stab of grief hit him—“I mean, he wasn’t fond of them.”
His peculiar desire to divert the girl from her anguish was quelled by his own. Memories of the evening hit him with full force. Storren laughing with the other guests, challenging the dwarf elders to a drinking contest, declaring his new admiration for mushrooms. Desolation overwhelmed him and to his horror, he found himself close to tears.
“I like to cook.” The girl’s soft voice broke through his befuddlement. “Although most of what I make is acceptable, I’ve had a few disasters. I once made a stew that gave my father hallucinations.”
Amusement lessened his grief. “What in the realm did you put in it?”
She curved her lips in a smile. “I bought some trout from a passing trader. I questioned the strange color and odd smell, but he convinced me it was a rare yellow subspecies with a unique aroma.”
Dax snickered. “I assume your father’s hallucinations gave away its actual rottenness.”
She giggled. “Yes, he mistook my mother for a goat and shooed her outside.”
Her peal of laughter mixed with the men’s deep chuckles.
“Ground shifters use goat in their cuisine often, don’t they?” he said to Dax, wanting to continue conversation while he recovered. He couldn’t believe he’d almost broken down in front of relative strangers.
“We do. Goat and venison are our most common meats. My boys will do anything for venison stew.”
“Your boys?” Libby exclaimed. “You have children?”
Dax’s expression became guarded. “Twins. Why?”
“You look quite young, not much older than me. Do ground shifters have extended lifespans, like dragons?”
Rhetahn glanced at her, surprised. To his knowledge, humans were aware The Three were immortal but knew little else about his race.
“No, our natural lives are the same length as humans.” Dax’s voice was flat. “My wife and I were childhood sweethearts. We married young and were blessed with the boys soon after.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “Does your wife—”
The young man rose with such haste, the whetstone clattered on the ground. Sheathing his dagger and shoving the stone away, he collected the torch from the wall. “We should move on.”
Libby radiated guilt when she rose, her cheeks tinged pink. Rhetahn suspected it wasn’t the first time her endless questions had gotten her into trouble. Getting up, he winced at the distant stab of pain through his chest, although the break had helped. He’d be able to continue now.
At a noise in the distance, he froze.
“Dax,” the girl said, “I didn’t mean to pry—”
“Hush,” Rhetahn hissed.
She glared. “I’m trying to apologize.”
“Be quiet for a moment,” he said, exasperated. “Didn’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I heard it too.” Dax stared down the tunnel.
Rhetahn focused on the dark passageway ahead as well. “There it is again.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Libby complained. “What is it?”
The men answered in one grim voice. “Screaming.”
Chapter Sixteen
The trio hurried toward the commotion. The sounds intensified as they skidded around a corner, frightened cries accompanied by inhuman hisses echoing through the tunnels.
A stone archway loomed out of the murk. An entrance to another antechamber. The noises came from within, along with a familiar caustic odor Rhetahn recognized instantly.
“There’s that sour smell again,” Libby said, panting.
“Nalfies.” He stopped a short distance from the arch, trying to ignore the ache from his stab wound. “At least two, from what I can hear.”
Dax nocked an arrow in his bow with an ease indicating years of practice. “What are they doing this deep underground?”
“We can debate it later.” Rhetahn drew his sword. “Stay out of sight, Lissabet.”
He and the ground shifter crept to the archway. He could feel Libby’s gaze boring into his back and resisted the urge to double-check she was safe. Peering into the gloom, he sucked in a breath.
Four nalfies surrounded a group of dwarves. The lizards’ muscled gray bodies and thick tails made them look like wingless, miniature dragons in the dim light. The five-foot-long beasts were in full hunt mode, tails lashing with excitement and curved claws tapping on the ground as if communicating with each other. Indifferent to the swords the dwarves brandished, one opened its jaws to reveal serrated yellow teeth and a black, forked tongue. Saliva oozed from its mouth as it surveyed the frightened group.
A harsh coppery odor blended with the sour smell of the lizards. One dwarf was injured, blood welling from a deep gash on his forehead. The creatures flicked their tongues into the air, tasting the scent. They had locked on to the group’s weakest members: the wounded man and a tiny dwarf boy huddled behind the adults.
A snap and a thud preceded a nalfie contorting in a roar, an arrow sticking out of its chest. He glanced across. Dax’s stare was intent as he drew back a second arrow in the string and released it, hitting another nalfie in the shoulder.
As the first animal died and the second one staggered sideways, the dwarves whirled ’round. The remaining nalfies turned too. The biggest one hissed and lunged at them.
With a nameless battle cry, Rhetahn charged into the antechamber. He swung his sword, narrowly missing the beast as it reared at him, snapping its powerful jaws. Dodging, he ignored the jab in his chest, and plunged his sword between the creature’s ribs. It gave a hellish scream, lashing its tail as it crashed to its side.
Pain ripped up his arm when the tail connected with the force of a whip. Baring his teeth, he rammed the hilt, pinning it in place and pressing down with all his strength.
The nalfie’s movements stuttered, then stopped. He loosened his grip, biting his lip against another wave of agony through his stab wound. Across the shadows, the ground shifter swung his own sword, beheading the second lizard and showering the cavern walls with yellow-tinged gore.
A shriek resounded through the chamber and his heart chilled to ice. The smallest nalfie had taken advantage of the distraction to snatch the child from the huddle. The boy screa
med, reaching in desperation for his family as the creature dragged him away with its teeth clasped on his middle. Scuttling to the opposite tunnel entrance with incredible speed for such a large animal, it headed for the shadows with its terrified prize. Rhetahn stumbled after it, as a whirling ball of magic flashed through the chamber and struck the nalfie’s back, sending it teetering into the wall. The boy fell from its mouth and didn’t move.
Rhetahn twisted in shock. Libby hovered in the archway, rainbow-colored magic trailing from her outstretched hands. Taking a deep breath, she aimed at the snarling beast again as it righted itself and slammed a clawed foot on the boy. A stuttered war cry rose from the dwarves and they rushed toward it.
The little folk set upon the beast, hacking their swords, dodging its lashing tail and sharp teeth until the creature slumped and died. Silence fell, broken by panting and the sheathing of weapons.
The dwarves drew back from the nalfie’s corpse. The injured one gathered up the comatose boy and carried him to the center of the room, placing him on the ground. He lifted the lad’s tunic to reveal the jagged bite marks on his ribs. A gray-haired dwarf woman knelt beside the boy, producing a brown jar from her leather apron. She twisted the lid and a citrusy odor escaped as she dabbed the ointment on two cloths, handing one to her wounded companion. He pressed it against his head, while the woman held the other one against the boy’s side.
Sheathing his sword, Rhetahn ran his hand across his forearm where the nalfie’s tail had lashed him. Dax and Libby came to stand at his shoulder.
“You’re hurt, Lord,” the ground shifter whispered.
He waved his hand. “I’m fine. Only a bruise.”
He surveyed the people they had saved, who were scrutinizing them with equal intensity. They were typical dwarves, pale, short, and stocky, just under four feet in height. Their clothes were bulky and robust; the men in jackets and pants, the women in plain, long-sleeved gowns. Their eyes were huge; dark pupils melting into black irises. The men sported beards that fell to their barreled chests. Even the boy had fuzz on his chin to go with the mop of curls on his head.
Rhetahn glanced at Libby as she studied the little folk. He doubted she’d ever seen a dwarf before, yet she didn’t look nervous or intimidated, merely interested.
Dax made everyone jump, introducing himself in their language, and they all started talking at once. Despite Rhetahn’s rusty Dwarvish, he deciphered the words “nalfies,” “demons,” and “safe,” along with a great many curse words. The young man responded in a calm voice, trying to keep order, but each dwarf seemed determined to be heard.
As the volume increased, the injured one threw his compress in exasperation and shouted something. The others fell silent. He switched into the Jothesian common tongue, his accent thick and rasping.
“We thank Dax the ground shifter and his companions for their aid.”
“They know you?” Rhetahn said to Dax.
“They know of me. They are a family group from Taglemeiss, returning from a visit to relatives. The injured one is Blouzst, the patriarch and a town elder. I’m acquainted with his son, a commander in the dwarven army.”
“How did they tangle with the nalfies? The lizards don’t tend to hunt this far below the surface.”
“Blouzst thinks they’ve been forced here to escape the demons. Nalfies make for good eating if you can take them down. The demon patrols in the Shifterlands must be hunting them. They won’t prolong their time here because they need the sun’s heat, but they’re opportunistic predators. A group of dwarves, including a young child, must have been irresistible to them.”
Libby gestured at the unconscious boy. “Will he heal?”
The woman tending him nodded. “Nalfie bites are vicious but dwarf hides are tough.”
“None tougher,” Blouzst added.
As if to illustrate their point, the child blinked awake. He whimpered, clutching his ribs, and said something in a high-pitched voice. In return, the woman pointed at Rhetahn and his companions.
The boy struggled to a sitting position, giving him a big toothy grin. The god smiled back, marveling at the lad’s recovery. He wondered about the ointment ingredients. Perhaps he should try it on his stab wound.
“Dragon soldier?” the boy asked him.
Rhetahn hesitated. “Yes. Dragon soldier.”
The lad beamed. “Fly high?”
“Very high.”
“Fight good?”
He jerked his head at the lizard he’d killed. “What do you think?”
As the boy giggled, Rhetahn speculated how he’d known he was a dragon shifter. When he remembered his distinctive cobalt blue uniform with its dragon head insignia, he felt rather foolish. Oh well. Perhaps they would take him for a sentry, albeit one on a peculiar mission, underground, with a ground shifter and a magic-wielding, amulet-wearing human for company.
He wasn’t holding out much hope.
Chapter Seventeen
“You must come to Taglemeiss,” Blouzst said, trotting by Rhetahn’s side as the group headed along a tunnel on the outskirts of the town. “We must honor you, Lord, as our hallowed god and one of our rescuers today.”
It had taken just twenty minutes for the dwarves to identify him as their deity. After spotting the amulets around Libby’s neck and the kite symbol on her chest, the lad, Svalzi, discerned it with astonishing sagacity.
“Lord Rhetahn!” he shrieked, ignoring his injuries. “It’s Lord Rhetahn! The Three are here!”
The next few minutes were spent calming the excited dwarves. Dax explained their plan to find the human sorcerers and find out why the ritual failed. He didn’t mention Mhaljett or Storren, or why Libby was wearing two amulets and using magic, yet the diminutive folk seemed content with the story. The dead nalfies were left behind, the dwarves explaining they would return later to butcher the corpses and make use of the meat.
“I must decline your kind invitation, Blouzst,” Rhetahn repeated for the fourth time. “Haste is vital if I’m to renew my power and stop the demons advancing farther into the Shifterlands. The sacrifice and I will wait on the outskirts of Taglemeiss for Dax to restock our rations, then continue our journey.”
“Bastard demons must be stopped,” Blouzst agreed. “The dwarven army is at your disposal. I will send a message to my son at headquarters.”
“Are the commanders based in Furacht?” he asked, naming the dwarven capital city near the southern border.
“Yes Lord. They are probably aware of the demons, but may not have mobilized yet, expecting the dragon army to provide direction first.”
“How many other barracks do the dwarves have?”
“Not many. I’m ashamed to say we dwarves have grown complacent over the years. The army has been reduced to three garrisons. The main cohort is in Furacht.”
“How many soldiers altogether?”
Blouzst shrugged. “Perhaps six hundred in the barracks. Around three thousand in reserve.”
Rhetahn stared at the small man by his side. “The dwarven army used to number in the tens of thousands.”
The dwarf sighed, playing with his gray-streaked beard. “As I said, we’ve grown complacent, Lord. Lazy, even. Perhaps we’ve spent so much time safe in our homes, we have forgotten the world outside.”
His somber words made Rhetahn frown. The dwarves weren’t the only ones who had withdrawn. Had the demons grown bold due to The Three’s lack of involvement in Jothesian day to day life? Had he and his brothers become too distant?
His doubts continued to plague him when the group arrived at their destination, another torch-lit antechamber indistinguishable from the others. Air currents flowed from the vaulted roof, through the four tunnel entrances, and into the passageways beyond. Between the two opposite archways was a jagged crack in the stone wall, as narrow as the outer tunnels they crawled through earlier but taller, close to seven feet high.
“That hole leads nowhere,” Dax said to Rhetahn and Libby. “It’s a perfect plac
e to hide if anyone comes past.”
“Hide?”
“It’s best if no one else is afforded the opportunity to recognize you, Lord.”
He grimaced, even as he agreed with the ground shifter’s assessment. It was tricky enough to calm a small group of dwarves. If he was identified again, he’d have a riot on his hands.
Dax continued in a low voice. “I will accompany Blouzst to Taglemeiss. They will no doubt lavish me with rations. My difficulty will be convincing them not to reveal your presence to anyone else in town.”
“Will you be all right on your own?” Libby asked.
Rhetahn ignored a peculiar pang of jealousy at her concerned tone, and the young man’s affectionate smile in response.
“Don’t worry, I’m used to working alone.” Dax swung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, where they nestled with the rucksack on his back. “I’ll return in two hours. Hopefully less.”
Rhetahn glanced at Blouzst and his kin. The dwarves were clustered close, muttering and glancing at the trio.
“What route are you taking to Pikeport?” Blouzst asked Dax, when he joined them.
The ground shifter’s answer was too quiet to hear as the group departed. Svalzi, snuggled in the arms of one of the men, gave them a sleepy wave.
After they disappeared, the girl sank to the ground with a sigh. The amulets swung against her cleavage as she adjusted her pant legs, re-tucking them into her socks. He lowered himself beside her, nudging his scabbard out of the way.
“Your aim with the magic is improving,” he said, as she undid her laces and re-knotted them. “You hit the nalfie spot on earlier.”
“You fought with skill, too,” she said graciously. “I suppose you’ve seen many battles in your time.”
“One or two, yes.”
“How many in total?”
He regarded her with amusement. “I haven’t kept count, Libby.”
“Lissabet.” She crossed her arms.
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