With a quick bow, the dwarf knelt beside the wide, polished disk of exposed bedrock in the center of the floor and began pounding a measured beat onto its surface. The ensuing reverberations came through the floor and walls, followed by the sounds of running feet and more than a few distant cheers.
Krunda stilled his hammer blows and bowed again before his prince.
Their path continued upwards through the dwarven hold once more. The bustle witnessed before the funeral ceremony was nothing compared to the activity streaming through the hold’s great halls and passages with the mobilization of Prince Wralka’s cohort. Finally, they turned onto the broad entry hall, where many plate-armored dwarves were already standing in ordered ranks, their large shields strapped to their backs.
“I will lead my warriors, two hundred strong—double what the Guardian’s Pact decrees—down the Silarne,” Prince Wralka told Oen as he inspected his assembled fighters with a critical eye, brushing imagined flecks of forge soot off gleaming pauldrons or squaring the shields on their back. “We shall arrive in Halversome upon the setting of the sun tomorrow. The three of you have different travel arrangements awaiting you at the gates.”
Prince Wralka gestured ahead to the newly erected great doors where a small group of elves stood.
“Adwa-Ki,” Lorace said, surprised as he beheld her familiar flow of spun silver hair among the group of four elves.
“Yes, she who was present when my father made the first cut into the stone of Kur K’Tahn that would become the halls of Vlaske K’Brak.”
Adwa-Ki held out both slender hands to Lorace as he strode up to her. He took her hands in his in greeting. Her grip was strong and firm, and she did not let release her hold. Her skin felt warmed by the sun, though she stood entirely within the shadow of the entry hall.
“Greetings, child of Fara and Veladis,” the elven matriarch said in her melodic voice as her violet eyes sparkled with flecks of morning sunlight. Without releasing him, she tilted her head toward Lorace’s. “Guardian Oen, and Sir Tornin, we greet you as well.”
“Our greetings to you and your kin, my Lady,” Lorace said with a smile. “Would it be considered rude of me to ask how you know of my mother and father?”
“No, Lorace, I am the only one here guilty of being rude,” Adwa-Ki said squeezing his hands with firm strength, a touch she had denied him upon their first meeting. “It is my gift. It is akin to that of the Truthseeker. I can see much of the story of that which I touch.”
Adwa-Ki released Lorace’s hands and turned partially toward her fellow elves. “Let me introduce my companions to you, they are the huntsman, Dederon,” the tallest elf with hair of pale yellow bowed. He carried a long, ornately carved bow and wore a motley of brown and green leather that hugged close to his lean form.
“The explorer, Esrenar,” a grim-faced elf whose bright blue eyes, half hidden behind a flow of raven black hair, seemed to miss nothing, bowed to them. He was dressed in billowing blue silk that hid his elven slimness. The elf could have passed himself as a human with little trouble if a quick adjustment of his hair were to cover the tips his ears.
“And finally, my son, Harna-Ki, historian of our people,” the elf whose close-trimmed silver hair matched the sheen of his mothers, bowed. Lorace noted that his large, violet eyes held more red in them than Adwa-Ki’s, but otherwise he was nearly her twin in features. He wore a robe made entirely of interwoven red silk ribbons that drew the eye into their intricate patterns.
“I am honored to meet all of you,” Lorace said to the three elven men, enjoying their distinct individuality.
“We arrived in time to bear witness to the forging of your chain,” Adwa-Ki said. “Today we offer our aid in returning you, Guardian Oen, and young Sir Tornin to Halversome.”
She turned her violet gaze upon Oen. “Guardian, word is spreading to my people of the need to fulfill our duty to the Guardian’s Pact. Our travel today will not delay their assembly. You can expect their arrival in Halversome timely to that of Prince Wralka.”
“Thank you, My Lady,” Oen said with an officious bow that made the heavy, silver necklace of his office jingle. “The welfare of Halversome is ever foremost on my mind; though Lorace assures us the Zuxrans have made no move against our walls yet.”
“You are so far sighted, Lorace?” the elven matriarch asked, her delicate eyebrows rising inquisitively. “I did not explore the story of your gift.”
“I can cast my awareness very far,” Lorace informed her lightly, but then became somber, “and Vorallon has guided me to see many things, none of which bodes well for any people of the light.”
Adwa-Ki stepped back from Lorace’s ominous tone. “I hope you will share what you have learned while we journey today, but before we depart, I would perform one other service for you with my gift, if I may, but it will require that I touch Sakke Vrang.”
Lorace stayed his hand from reaching into his satchel. “Touching Sakke Vrang carries a price—it pained me severely during the ritual of its forging.”
“And how did you feel afterward?” she asked as her ageless face displayed a hint of apprehension.
“Remade,” answered Lorace, with a slight smile to ease her uncertainty. “I am not the same man I was before the Ritual.”
“My gift also tells me the lore of an item, that which is made with a purpose,” Adwa-Ki said, turning her head away slightly. “I would not touch you or your godstone when we first met. I feared mingling my destiny with yours. I was selfish of my own span of years, and the future ahead of me. Forgive me, please. The raw godstone you bore was just too imposing.”
“There is nothing to forgive. Anything you would have had to tell would have been meaningless to me at the time. I had only recently awoken to this life and was bereft of almost all memory,” Lorace said. He finished reaching into his satchel, and drew out the clumped mass of his chain to hold before him. “But if anything, it is more life altering now. It cleanses the spirit and the flesh, removing the darkness of corruption. Only myself, and the fallen have touched it so far. Some of its purpose has been revealed to me, but there is doubtless more that remains unknown.”
The elven matriarch smiled at Lorace. “I accept the risk to myself. I have only to look upon you to see your assuredness, indeed you are not the same man my vision led me to meet before the Voradin tree. That man was full of doubt, and empty of almost all else.”
She reached out and placed her hand upon his chain. She stiffened, her silver shrouded head arched back, and her pale eyelids shut tight.
Several motes of darkness appeared on Adwa-Ki’s unblemished skin, coalescing from within the core of her being. The motes traveled down her arm and through her hand. Sakke Vrang sucked the darkness into its dull silver links where small flashes of arcing golden light danced before vanishing into Lorace’s hand and arm.
A flow of warmth and strength tingled through Lorace, and something else that took his breath away. Through his mind streamed brief glimpses of Adwa-Ki’s life, vivid images of places she had been and people and beings she had known. He marveled at broad vistas of pale green skies, and trees so enormous that their crowns were lost in clouds tinged with purple. The people and faces he glimpsed among the images were no less strange, some beautiful, and a few, indescribably alien. It was not enough to gain an intimate picture of the elven matriarch, but it was enough to be stunned by the countless ages she had lived through. She had witnessed one of those great trees grow from sapling to a cloud-scraping giant during her span of years.
Adwa-Ki lifted her hand from his chain and sighed as her body regained its innate fluid grace. She stood silent and introspective for a moment as Lorace lowered the chain to his side, his mouth still agape and sucking in air. For that moment of contact, he had experienced a gulf of time that would require untold days to fully sort through.
“I am amazed,” she said at last, her eyes flashing as her mouth stretched into a smile that lit up the shadowed hall. “Before I tell your chain
’s story, may I see your hands, Lorace?”
He closed his jaw and accepted the flow of strength within the deep blue vastness of his growing tranquility. Each spark that entered him had brought with it a warm, coursing vitality. With Sakke Vrang draped over his forearm, he held out his hands, turning their palms up to reveal the white circle branded on each.
“As unbreakable as your godstone chain is,” Adwa-Ki began, taking up his hands in hers. The feel of her fingers on the backs of his hands as she cradled them, raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “You, Lorace, are the strongest of its links; the branding of your hands signifies this. You and the chain are one. Every link of the chain, separate, yet bound completely together as one in a manifestation that mirrors your spirit.”
She traced the circles on his palms with her thumbs. “The chain purifies the corruption from the being and spirit which it touches by pulling that corruption into its links. It holds those fragments of impure spirit within, storing and cleansing them through an interaction with your own profoundly strong and pure spirit. Through this action, your own spirit grows yet stronger as that cleansed power flows into your being.”
She clasped his hands together, palm to palm. “The chain brings your spirit, and the spirit of whoever touches it, together during this interchange, an intimate union while they are in contact.”
Lorace looked down at his chain once more and contemplated the flow of golden sparks, and the sensations that flowed into him, with this new understanding. “The touch of Sakke Vrang renders a spirit pure. It cleanses the body as well, we saw this upon the dwarven fallen and upon my own flesh.”
Adwa-Ki released his hands. “It will take in any hostile magic it contacts as well, seeing this as implicit corruption.”
“What did you feel?” Harna-Ki asked, searching his mother’s violet gaze.
“It is a somewhat uncomfortable sensation,” she said with a wry smile. “I felt the impurity of my doubts and fears, even some questionable deeds being pulled forcefully from my spirit. I daresay this sensation of pain is commensurate with the degree of corruption that Sakke Vrang draws forth. I am left with the knowledge of what has been taken away, but the taint is gone and I am cleansed, my spirit whole and pure. This is unlike anything I would have believed possible.”
“It affected me as well, Adwa-Ki,” Lorace said. “I could see fleeting images of your life while our spirits were linked. The beautiful and strange places you have seen and beings you have met, things I could never have imagined. The strength it gave me is making me more connected somehow to everything around me, more solid, more substantial.”
“The effect on your own spirit is strengthening, true,” Adwa-Ki replied. “There is no limit to the depths of corruption the chain can draw forth, the power of godstone is unimaginable, but your spirit may have a limit on what it can cleanse. Beware what may happen if your spirit is ever found lacking when your chain is consuming a strong corruption. May your will always be master over that of Sakke
Vrang.”
“This is what the demon attack attempted to prevent!” Prince Wralka exclaimed, breaking the silence that had enshrouded everyone. “They made every effort to reach the Forge Stone—somehow they knew! Given that your spirit could withstand it, a single touch of your chain would destroy a demon, for they are unrelenting corruption made manifest within the bowels of Nefryt.”
Adwa-Ki nodded, her lips downturned at the corners. “If that is indeed your destiny, may your spirit grow to unimaginable strength, for it would be the salvation of Vorallon.”
“Yes, that is what the demon’s fear,” Lorace said with certainty. “However, the chain and Vorallon have a particular target. They seek a being that calls itself the Devourer, and its every step upon the world is pain. It is foulness beyond the unthinking savagery and rage of demons. Like all those who came before me, Elena, Kvarrak, Dranna, and Sir Rindal, my destiny is to ward Vorallon’s living essence.”
While Adwa-Ki had been explaining the mysteries of Sakke Vrang, Lorace had noticed Tornin’s hand and attention going to the hilt of his black sword. The mysteries remaining to his blade, Defender of the Youngest, were many. Its creation, blessing, and the black metal of the blade were all mysteries the elven matron’s gift could reveal. Tornin made no move to impose upon Adwa-Ki, so strong was his respect for her. Lorace moved to take hold of Tornin’s arm and steer him toward the elf, but the dwarven prince stepped before him and claimed his undivided attention with his solid presence.
Prince Wralka knelt stiffly. “I beg you, Lorace, hold forth Sakke Vrang once more for my warriors. Share its blessing with us for your destiny is aligned with ours.”
Giving Tornin an assuring nod that promised he was not forgotten, Lorace squared his shoulders and placed his feet well apart for the connection that was to come, then held out the chiming links of Sakke Vrang. Prince Wralka grabbed hold of one dangling end in a solid grip, bringing forth a deep, reflexive grunt, while his body shuddered slightly. He regained his composure as vague splotches of darkness formed and radiated down his arm and hand into the chain to become golden sparks.
The flood of images was very brief, and almost all showed the halls of Vlaske K’Brak during the dwarven leader’s life. A brief image of the warped Dranna, seen through the compassionate eyes of a younger Wralka, was a sad blow. Many flashes of Halversome’s construction followed. Images of the many years it took for the hands of elves, dwarves, and men to build the fortress city. It was nothing like the depth of time that Adwa-Ki’s touch had conveyed, but it was still much more than the life span of any man, though Wralka retained the appearance of youth about him.
Without releasing the end of the chain, Prince Wralka backed down the grand hallway as Lorace let the chain play out through his hands. Fully fifty long strides away, the dwarf halted as Sakke Vrang reached its full extent. Holding the chain high and taught so that it did not touch the floor of the hall, Prince Wralka called out to his men, “Steel your nerves and take hold, my warriors! Show Vorallon that he can believe in you as his protectors, brothers of the stone.”
The body of dwarven warriors stepped forward and took up a position, shoulder to shoulder, down both sides of the chain as it extended tightly suspended between Lorace and their prince. The chain was long enough for nearly half of the warriors to arrange themselves while the remainder stood back in organized ranks awaiting their turn.
Lorace noted with surprise that the two dwarves nearest him, in their wrought steel plate armor, massive shields upon their backs, were Ralli and Petor, grinning up at him with broad smiles. Lorace grinned back, and nodded to them in warm greeting before they turned back to the chain.
The armored warriors looked back and forth, daring their fellows to balk at their prince’s orders before taking hold of the chain in almost complete unison. The ensuing surge of strength flowed into him, coursing through his being, further expanding the depths within. Unbidden, another vortex of wind erupted around him, but he clamped down on it before it could buffet anyone.
Many dwarves gasped or grunted while others sighed before releasing their hold to allow the rest of their fellows to step up and perform the same deed. Lorace held the sudden flow of spirit within his interior expanse with more control, and though he wanted to reach out to the winds in exultation, he kept them quiescent.
Once the dwarven warriors had all shared in the blessing of the chain, Tornin and Oen stepped forth to clasp its links, though they betrayed only the slightest of jolts—no evidence of darkness flowing from them.
Tornin hung his head, crestfallen that the touch of the chain had so little to no effect on him.
Oen smiled broadly and clapped the chagrined young man on the back. “Tornin, you are already pure, the chain found nothing to take.”
“But I have done foul things,” Tornin said with a grave timbre to his voice. “I have fought, I have contested with others.”
“And you have done such things justly and with pure intentions,” Oe
n reasoned with him. “Fighting, and even killing, is not inherently foul. Even Lord Aran will eventually call on us to fight and kill in defense of those who require our aid. No Tornin, I have watched you closely for many years, since you were first brought to Halversome as a foundling child, you are gifted because your spirit is strong and pure.”
Adwa-Ki raised a gentle hand. “It is true that the gifted are those of strong spirit,” she said, “but purity is not a necessary quality. I wish that it were.”
She looked up at Tornin’s open stare and gave him a tender laugh. “I do not dispute your purity young Tornin, far from it. Know though that demons are complete manifestations of the most corrupt and foul spirits, their abilities are as twisted and unique as their individual appearance. Every one of us who is gifted, exhibits a unique transcendent ability.”
Oen spoke, “Adwa-Ki, may I ask how old you are? I put forth that our souls are strong enough to manifest gifts because of the number of times we have been reborn to Vorallon.”
“I understand what you are asking. How is it that I, who have never died and been reborn to my knowledge, could be blessed with a gift?” the elven matriarch stated. “I have been alive upon Vorallon for over five hundred years, but I am far older. Though many of my people were born here, I and a few of my brothers and sisters were brought here by the Old Gods; the Traveler, the Lady, the Sage, and the Hunter all took part in bringing us here upon Vorallon’s awakening. Vorallon is very young while the world we came from was quite mature, and could spare our departure. My gift manifested not from repeated rebirth, but from time, a great deal of time. Our spirits grow with us, and our gifts grow stronger with use and will.”
“I look forward to hearing more of your tale, but we must depart,” Lorace said, beginning to coil in his chain, as Prince Wralka walked it in.
Adwa-Ki halted the dwarven leader with a respectfully raised palm. “Hold Lorace, the sun is still low, and our means of travel require more of her strength. There are three more who would accept the blessing of Sakke Vrang, and there is something more I need to tell you.”
Gifts of Vorallon: 02 - City of Thunder Page 3
