The party had run late into the night and Thorik finally headed home, up the path that had not been kept tidy for a long while. Branches lay across the way as well as leaves, which needed to be raked. He would have to get up all the earlier in the morning to clean it up before they left.
He saw his cottage, small and simple. It was not grand like those he had seen on his travels, nor was it protected by any great walls. Yet it felt like the safest place in Australis. He couldn’t wait to make a cup of tea in his own kitchen again and to sleep in his own bed. No Del’Unday, Fesh’Unday, Coliseum battles, swimming corpses, or carved statues coming to life. It will be a welcomed treat even if it was only for one night.
Stale air hit his face as he opened the door. It wasn’t overpowering, just unpleasant. He opened the flume on the fireplace and started a nice little fire. He rotated an angled metal rod over the top of the flame, carrying a pot of water for his tea.
Reaching a boil, he poured his tea into a cup, grabbed his jar of sugar, and scooped out a large spoonful before stirring it in. Wrapping his hands around the large cup helped warm up his chilled body from the night’s wintry temperatures. Blowing softly across the surface a few times he took a sip to warm his insides.
His face pursed up as he realized that the scoop of sugar was actually salt. His tea was awful. Checking the labels on the jars, he had grabbed the correct one. Someone had switched the contents. His guess would be Wess, just before they headed upstream on their journey.
He had a soft chuckle and made himself a fresh cup of tea, this time with sugar. He sat back and listened to the approaching storm as the winds picked up and lightning could be seen in the distance. It was uncommon, but not unusual to have thunderstorms this late in the year. All he could think about was how nice it was to be able to ride it out in the safety of the house he had grown up in. He washed up and prepared for sleep as the winds continued to howl through the trees.
Stretching out on his bed, he closed his eyes and thought back at the adventure he had recently survived. The challenges he had risen to. The challenges he had lost. Most important were the friends that he had met and lost along the way.
He still had deep feelings for Emilen and he believed she did for him. On one hand he hated what she had done. The loss of life that she had taken and the feeling that she had deceived him burned in his mind. On the other hand he wondered if she was a victim of Darkmere’s control, carrying out his acts without the power to fight it. His heart still tightened when he thought of her lying with him in the tail of the dolphin statue while the warm mineral water of Kingsfoot Lake splashed up onto their bodies.
It was almost like being back there. He could feel droplets of water hit his body.
“Thorik, are you awake?” Grewen’s deep voice broke his peaceful memory as he opened his eyes to see the roof of his cottage lifted off its walls by the Mognin, who was looking down at him. Rain was starting to pour into his home and was saturating his bed sheets.
“What are you doing? Close the roof!” He sat up in bed and glared up at Grewen, who was leaning over the front wall. The fireplace shed enough light onto Grewen’s upper body to see that he was under attack. His shirt was half ripped off and large bleeding scratches marked up his body.
A howl could be heard just as several thrashers jumped onto Grewen’s chest and arms. An entire tribe had attacked as Grewen fought to keep them off, falling backward out of sight, taking the roof with him.
A thrasher jumped from Grewen’s falling body and landed on the front wall as he spied Thorik still in bed, shivering with fear and confusion. Thorik could see the scar of the three scratches over his eye. It was the Silverhead. Sniffing the air, he remembered the attack on his tribe and Thorik’s killing of his family. He jumped off and landed in front of Thorik at the same moment a second creature grabbed Thorik from behind.
Thorik screamed with all his might as he stood up and lunged at the creature attacking from behind. Holding the beast down with one hand, he began taking out his own aggression.
“Thorik! Stop it,” Avanda yelled. “You’re going to knock us off the boat.”
Thorik jolted his eyes open to find himself on top of Brimmelle, in the Mognin rowboat. The rain was coming down hard and lightning lit the sky frequently to give him a clear view of Brimmelle’s facial reaction from the unprovoked attack.
Avanda sat next to Gluic as they held a blanket over their heads to hold off the rain. The youth wondered if one of her magical items could stop the rain. She had collected most of them before leaving Weirfortus. However, sitting in a rowboat in the middle of the lake was not the best time for her to test the items for magical properties.
Grewen was still paddling the boat in the middle of the Lake Luthralum with no land in sight as Thorik helped Brimmelle back up and regained his own bearings. Swiping his face with his hand to clear the rain from it, Thorik was still disorientated as his dream of returning home was starting to fade.
“Where are we?” Thorik asked.
Grewen spoke up first. “We just passed several rocky islands. We still haven’t seen Draq, so we’re sailing blind. If I don’t see him soon, we’ll have to attempt to land on one of these islands until this storm blows past.” Grewen continued to row. “And where exactly were you?” he said with a grin.
Thorik gazed out upon the waves on the lake as he gathered his thoughts. He was still coming to grips the fact that he had dreamt the return to Farbank. “I was home.”
The Mognin nodded. “Things okay back there?”
A slight smile crossed the Num’s face. “Yes, and I mean to keep it that way.”
Grewen grinned. “Understood, little man.”
Chapter 37
Assassin
Fate of Thorik Page 58
