by D. A. Adams
They stopped working with the meat and followed her to the wagon. All three quickly rummaged through Torkdohn’s gear, searching for anything they might need to get to the gate, and once they had gotten everything they thought might be useful, they hitched the horses and drove the wagon to Bressard’s dilapidated barn. While the house needed minor repairs and debris cleared, the barn was beyond hope. Most of the boards on the southern face had come loose on one end and pointed to the ground in odd angles. The remaining few curled in a C shape, allowing light to pour into the stalls. One section of roof had collapsed, and the rest looked ready to follow. While the Tredjards unhitched the horses, Molgheon carefully pulled open the main stall door.
They cleared space for the wagon and then pushed it inside. Molgheon closed the door and followed the Tredjards, who were leading the two horses, back to the front porch. In a matter of hours, they would be on their way, and at that time, they would leave the cage on the back porch and secure the captives on the backs of these horses. By her estimation, they could make it to the gate in a couple weeks. Then, she would explain her decision to Leinjar and return home. She hadn’t used that word with any real meaning for years, but thinking it now made her smile. Stopping on the porch, she stared at the mountains and let the feeling of comfort wash over her.
Chapter 10
A Warning of Disaster
Krondious crawled into a grove of trees and curled into as tight a ball as he could in the shadows. The sunlight blinded him, causing his head to pound, and the smells of the forest overwhelmed him, sending waves of nausea through his stomach. When he had first emerged from the gate, the sky had been overcast, and while the light was more than he had ever experienced, it had been tolerable. Now, with no clouds to block the sun, it was too much. As he lay there, the king’s words echoed in his mind:
“Living in exile above ground is a far worse punishment for someone from the deep.”
At the time, he hadn’t fully understood, for like all dwarves of the deep, he had no reference for the brightness of the surface. There, sunlight was a reflection off a mirror, dim and subtle. Here, it was a relentless orb, blazing and unblinking. Blinded, he was defenseless for the first time in his life, and that terrified him. Not two hours before he had been the most feared Kiredurk in the kingdom, but now, he was reduced to a prone heap on the mountainside. Any predator could have made short work of him, and as he lay there, part of him wished for that relief.
But no predator came, and slowly, the sun descended behind the southwestern ridge. Twilight took the earth, and once the fierce light was gone, the pounding in his head eased. Famished and thirsty, he opened the pack the constable had left and found the waterskin. He drank heartily, thinking the water especially sweet, and ate a piece of dried beef. His stomach gurgled and churned, and the meager ration did little to quiet it.
As twilight faded into darkness, the mountainside crackled with nocturnal sounds. Tree frogs called their nightly chorus, and rodents scurried across dry twigs. Krondious had never heard such noises and couldn’t sit still for scanning around each time a new sound came. In the deep, he had laughed at jumpy dwarves, believing them cowards, and whenever he met one, he relished finding ways to scare them. Now, with the entire mountain alive with noises he’d never heard, he wished he had been a little less cruel and a little more understanding.
Realizing he would soon need food and water, he gathered his paltry supplies and started down the overgrown trail. Compared to the darkness of home, the path was well-lighted, so he had little trouble picking his way down the loose gravel. The signpost at the edge of the kingdom had indicated there would be a small township at the base of the mountain roughly eight miles away. When he reached the town, he could find a room to spend the day in, and after a good sleep, figure out what to do and where to go.
As he walked, he realized most of the sounds had diminished, and an eerie silence had enveloped the trail. The deep had places this silent, and he would often sit alone for hours and think about things. He had never fit in among his kin, and more often than not, he preferred solitude to the awkwardness of trying to conform. In the deep, the silence had felt natural, but here, even though he had never been on the surface before, it seemed amiss. He strained his ears for sounds of danger and peered into the forest for anything about to pounce.
Wind stirred the trees, causing shadows to dance in and out of the limbs, and between the motion and the smells, he was overloaded and unable to focus. It reminded him of being drunk but without the euphoria. He wished the constable had left an axe, a dagger, any weapon. Anything would have eased his sense of helplessness. As it were, he only had the small leather pack with the waterskin and a few strips of dried meat, nothing with enough substance to serve even as a small club.
Before him, a rock wolf stepped onto the trail, its silver hair bristling. It held its head near its front legs, staring at him with yellow eyes that flickered with hunger. Its teeth were bared and seemed to glow with faint light. Krondious froze mid-stride and held as still as he could, listening for the rest of the pack. Rock wolves sometimes made it as far as the deep, preying on livestock in remote regions, and one thing Krondious knew was they were rarely found alone. He braced himself and waited.
The one in front of him let out a shrill yelp, as if something had caused it pain, and Krondious started from the sound. At once, the others leapt from the forest and surrounded him, moving as a unit. He counted five, including the one blocking the trail, and with no weapon, he resigned himself to death. His only hope was that one would snap his neck early so it would be quick and painless, but he knew more than likely, his end would not be so gentle.
The one that had blocked him leapt forward and landed a foot in front of him, yelping again, flattening on the ground, and holding still. At the same instant, the one behind Krondious lunged, but instead of distracting him by lying on the ground, it sunk its teeth into his shoulder. Krondious groaned and dropped to his knees. The rock wolf tightened its grip, and a shriek burst from the prone dwarf. The other wolves moved in, nipping at his arms and legs, but luckily none of their bites found flesh, only the loose fabric of his clothes.
That night in the bar, he hadn’t meant to kill the farm boy. The whole scenario had started as a joke. He had only wanted to scare the boy, maybe rough him up a little, but when the kid had gone for a weapon, an instinct Krondious couldn’t control had taken over. From the moment the boy had touched his axe until the constable had locked him in the local jail, he had the sensation of being deep inside himself, and his body moved without effort, snapping the kid’s arm and sinking the axe in his belly. As dwarf after dwarf had tried to subdue him, a calmness he hadn’t felt before had settled on him, a peace he had never known. The memory, the unnaturalness of the sensation, disturbed him.
Now, with the rock wolf ripping his shoulder and the others moving in, that same calmness took over. He gathered himself and found his quiet center. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he wanted to live. There were still things he wanted to do.
Reaching across his torso and over his left shoulder with his right hand, he grabbed the one biting him and squeezed with all his strength. The wolf struggled for a moment, but then, its skull cracked with a loud pop and within a couple of heartbeats, it released its grip and went limp. Krondious flung its lifeless body away and, still using his right arm, grabbed the throat of the closest wolf. The animal sensed danger a moment too late, for as it struggled to escape, Krondious crushed its windpipe.
The remaining three retreated a few steps and regrouped, and Krondious clambered to his feet. His left shoulder throbbed, and he clutched his left arm against his ribs, trying to minimize the motion in his shoulder. The lead wolf leapt in front again, yelping its shrill, annoying bark once more, and the other two moved to each side, flanking the lone dwarf.
This time, he ignored the decoy and swung his right arm in a wide-sweeping backhand. He caught the wolf on that side squarely in its ribs, and from the fo
rce of his blow, the animal tumbled down the rise several feet. The one to his left grabbed his left arm with a solid bite, but as it sunk its teeth into his flesh, the dwarf swung his right arm back across his body and punched it directly in the jaw, snapping bones and crumbling the wolf to the ground. As it landed, he stomped its throat.
The decoy darted into the trees, moving down the mountain in the same direction as the one Krondious had sent tumbling. He scanned the forest’s edges, peering into the shadows for any motion that might warn of another attack. To his left up the slope, something stirred the branches as it moved down the hill towards him. He set his feet and braced for whatever foe might emerge from the trees. His shoulder screamed, the wound tightening as blood clotted and muscles tensed themselves. He dug his elbow against his ribs and gritted his teeth.
“Don’t be afraid,” a gentle voice said from the woods. Although barely a whisper, it seemed beside him. “I heard you cry out.”
“I’m fine,” he answered, his voice louder than he intended rolling down the mountainside.
“You’re an outcast?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“None, I suppose, but few Kiredurks wander this path, and fewer still survive the rock wolves alone.”
Krondious glanced at the dead wolves and back to the direction of the voice.
“May I tend to that shoulder?”
“I’m fine.”
From the shadows, a figure emerged, a sight unlike anything Krondious could imagine. He had seen few humans and fewer elves in the deep, but this person or creature or apparition was as close to elf as anything. As she glided towards him, her body seemed half-solid, half-mist, and vapor trailed her. Her skin and hair was light as fresh cream, but she was so shrouded in mist she was nearly opaque against the darkness. Krondious froze, trapped between terrified and infatuated.
“What’s your name?” she asked, pulling back the torn tunic and looking at his shoulder.
“I’m Krondious, from the deep.”
“My name is Aleichan.”
“Please, forgive my poor manners, but what are you?”
“Have you ever seen a cave troll in the deep?”
“Of course.”
“I am to the trees as the trolls are to the rocks.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s okay. This wound isn’t so bad,” she said, reaching into her tunic and taking out a small, leather pouch. With her delicate fingers, she opened the flap and took out a pinch of dried leaves. “These will help.”
Just above the wound, she rubbed her thumb and index finger in counter-circles against each other, grinding the leaves into a fine powder that coated the area. The dwarf’s skin tingled, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant.
“Are you a ghost?”
“No,” she responded, laughing. “I’m as alive as you are. Let me see your forearm.”
Krondious held up his arm, and she repeated the process over that wound.
“Let’s walk towards town,” she said, returning the pouch to her tunic. “We can protect each other the rest of the way.”
Though she was slight and hardly an imposing presence, Krondious didn’t question that she could protect him. He retrieved his leather sack and resumed his march down the trail. She moved beside him, and while her legs moved in the form of walking, the motion was more like gliding.
“Why are you exiled?” she asked.
“Murder,” Krondious answered, staring down.
“It takes a lot of courage to admit that freely.”
“My life’s over. What’s it matter what anyone thinks of me?”
“Your life is just beginning, Krondious, from the deep.”
“I’m an outcast. My honor is gone.”
“Maybe one day you’ll reclaim it?”
“Maybe,” he huffed, showing disdain.
“Do you know what luck is?” she asked, her tone calm and patient.
“I don’t know anything.”
“Good. That’s a good place to start. Luck is when preparation meets opportunity. If you want to restore your honor, remember that.”
Then, she fell silent, and the two continued down the mountain without speaking. In the distance, flickering torchlight signaled the town. Feeling exhaustion overtaking him, Krondious focused on the trail only at the ground immediately in front of him. As the path flattened and curved towards the first building in town, he turned to thank Aleichan, but she was no longer there. He paused and stared back up the mountainside, wondering if she had been something real or part of his imagination.
***
The first year above ground was the worst. Most nights he barely slept more than a couple of hours because he would start awake with an unnamable anxiety and spend the rest of the night looking at whatever ceiling he happened to be under. There was nowhere to call home, so mostly, he roamed from town to town, rarely staying in one place long. Food had little taste and ale no pleasure, and since the incident with the farm boy, he was scared to get in another fight. He regretted the lives he had taken, and the last thing he wanted was to shed more innocent blood. Every day became a gray blur, and more than once, he contemplated suicide.
Over time, however, living on the surface became easier. After the first year, most days the sunlight was bearable, and once he settled in the small logging town in the south, Krondious quickly realized he was perfectly suited for felling trees. His powerful arms and chest could swing an axe for hours without tiring, and as he chopped, he concentrated on his technique. Finding a niche gave him something to focus on, and slowly, he climbed out of the deepest end of the depression. Small joys, like a well-prepared meal, again became pleasurable, and he found himself sleeping through the night. While he wouldn’t call himself happy, he found this existence tolerable.
As years passed and he grew from a young dwarf into adulthood, he perfected his swing to the point that he could fell twice as many trees in a day as anyone else. He could also split any block of wood, regardless of diameter, with one stroke. Many a stranger had lost a week’s wages betting against him with the locals, and among loggers, his physical strength and agility with his axe were legendary. For his part, Krondious mostly kept to himself. He would drink in the tavern with his crew, and he would sometimes eat with them, but most of the time, he would go deep into the forest to work alone.
Often, as he worked, focusing on his swing, he would think about Aleichan and wonder if she had really been with him on the mountain. Part of him was convinced she had merely been a pain-induced hallucination, something his mind concocted to get himself down the trail and into town. Then, there was the other part that remembered the leaves she had crumbled onto his wounds. Within a couple of days, those wounds had healed completely with hardly a scar. That part believed she was still there and that he would see her again. Regardless, he never spoke of her to anyone, and even if he had wanted to, he wouldn’t have known what to say or where to begin.
Life continued, day after day, season after season, for several years, and while it was tolerable, he missed home. Sometimes, he would dream about the darkness of the deep but wake up disappointed by the faint light of the stars. Two dwarves in the logging town were also from the deep, and occasionally, they would commiserate about life on the surface, usually over several pints of ale. On those nights, Krondious would cry himself to sleep, so miserable he couldn’t stand the feeling of his own flesh.
Then, one afternoon, he returned from the forest to find a group of soldiers from the Great Empire in town. The humans had never bothered with Rugraknere, so it was a start to see them. A large crowd had gathered in the center of town near the shame cage used for drunks, and Krondious moved to the edge and listened to what the human in charge was saying, which was a lot of nonsense about reasonable taxes and honest labor, so Krondious nudged the dwarf beside him and asked what was happening.
“They’re looking for that old man and the dark beard that stay with Shaman Bokey, but they’ve g
otten out of town.”
“What’s this about taxes?”
“These jokers are gonna stay and ‘protect’ us from renegades and murderers like the two that escaped. We’ve gotta pay them for this privilege.”
“That’ll be the day,” Krondious said gripping the handle of his axe.
“Listen to me,” the female Ghaldeon who had arrived in town with the escapees said. “I’m from the conquered lands. Whatever they ask for, go along, or they will do terrible things to some of us to make examples.”
Krondious studied her face for a moment, and there was a look in her eyes he recognized. He couldn’t place it, but it was real, so he decided to trust and listen to her. For the next few days, he told every dwarf he met not to make trouble, and given the legendary stories of his prowess in the forest, everyone paid heed.
But life under these soldiers quickly became unbearable. Every night they collected taxes, and those without money were beaten and usually handed over to the slave traders who had arrived with the humans. The old and the weak worked themselves to death trying to satisfy the greed and protect their families, but nothing could satiate the soldiers. Among the dwarves, there were grumblings of standing up to the humans, but Krondious knew that they were too poorly armed and too poorly trained to face soldiers from the Great Empire, so every time someone talked of uprising, he would remind them of the Ghaldeon’s warning. Though she had disappeared shortly after the soldiers arrived, Krondious still trusted her.
So for months, he and the others endured, and their lives were miserable. While Rugraknere was a pale shadow of the Kiredurk kingdom, the logging town had at least been somewhat cheerful. Now, all vibrancy was gone. Every dwarf spent the day with heads down and shoulders slouched, and Krondious resented the soldiers for taking the small measure of contentment he had found. Often, as he chopped, instead of remembering Aleichan, he would imagine striking down the humans.
One afternoon, the two Kiredurks from the deep found him in the forest and asked him to move deeper into the woods. They pushed through the thick growth and found a small clearing far away from any dwarf or human.
