“Who is that knocking at my door unannounced?” muttered a gruff voice from within.
The door shuddered and pulled open. A dwarf, short and fat even for his people, emerged. He was heaped with bearskins and topped with a fur cap. Coupled with his beard and bushy eyebrows, a bulbous nose and the gleam of hidden eyes were the only bits of him not hidden by hair.
“Ah. This one. The boy with the lizard and no face. What brings you to the court of the Seven Brothers?”
“The time has come,” Reyce said.
One of the massive eyebrows raised. “By my count, you’re a good few moons short.”
“Plans have changed. We need to move now.”
“Then we need to talk about the gold.”
“You have been paid.”
“You coming here today, months before we agreed? That’s not part of the plan. And when you change the plan, you reopen negotiations.”
“This change costs you nothing.”
“You’re right about that, but we are talking about what it’ll cost you. Call it… my weight, twice again, in gold. And a nice ruby I think, for the missus.”
“Why should it cost me an ounce more? You need only drop the tablet now instead of later.”
“Because you pulled me out of bed. Because I’m freezing my nose off here talking to you, searing my eyes in the sun. Because I decided. And because you don’t have a choice.”
Boviss lowered his head, his permanent grin smoldering with the beginnings of a fiery breath.
“I do not like the dwarfs,” Boviss rumbled. “They riddle my mountains with their tunnels. They claim my gold for their own. You have given them my hoard. Perhaps I shall eat this one as compensation…”
“You can try it, lizard. You’ll get a mouthful of dwarfish iron, and your keeper here won’t get what he paid for. And if there were anyone but me that could give it, we wouldn’t be talking. So you’ve got your price. Agree to it and I’ll drop the tablet. If not, whatever it is you’re looking to get done can wait.”
“You vile, greedy—”
“Sling all the insults you want, dragon keeper. But I am the one who wrote out the tablet. I am the one who knows what you’re up to. So you’d best thank whatever dark god you worship that I’m as greedy as I am, because if your plan doesn’t work, it’ll mean war for me just as surely as you.” He rolled his head, cracking his neck. “Then, I’m protected by the brothers. So that’s no concern. But there is the principle of it.”
“… You shall have your gold.”
“And to think I doubted you had a proper head on your shoulders. Now, normally I would demand payment before delivery of services, but this payment is for expediency, isn’t it? And by now I think we both understand just how much of a fool idea it would be to promise the keeper of the Seven Brothers a payment and not deliver.” He scratched his head. “Now, I wouldn’t be doing my diligence if I didn’t ask you to think this over good and hard. Once I drop the tablet, there’s no going back until the deed is done. No room for second thoughts.”
Reyce had almost hoped he would be given this chance to back away. Until now, there had been little life lost. He and his people had spilled blood, and planned to spill more. But nothing could compare to what would begin when the dwarf fulfilled his end of the bargain. A large part of him, one he had pushed down and attempted to silence, screamed for him to abandon this, to toe the line of peace and decency, to find another way. As though he could hear that voice, Boviss offered the opposing view.
“Your people live or die by this moment,” he rumbled. “Do not shrink from your responsibilities. Destroy your foes or be destroyed by them.”
Reyce tightened his fists. “The decision has been made.”
The dwarf eyed Boviss before addressing Reyce’s hidden form. “Seems to me you might not be the keeper here… Bah. That’s not for me to bother myself about. Off with you. Our boy needs room to stretch his legs.”
“How long will it take?”
“Not less than a week to get where he’s going. Not more than three to get back. At least, if my grandfather is to be believed. Best to give me my payment before he takes his seat again, or he’s liable to find a new place to visit.”
“Understood.”
The dwarf disappeared into the doorway. Reyce turned to Boviss. The dragon looked coldly upon him, fire spilling from between his teeth as his grin took on a more self-satisfied tone.
“You have done well.”
“I have set in motion something that will end more lives than any battle in my lifetime…” Reyce said, the gravity of his decision not lost on him.
“In your lifetime, perhaps. But not in mine. We are hunters. We cannot fear blood. Blood is how we feed.”
Reyce climbed to his back, and the beast launched into the air. He rose into the sky, nearly to the clouds, then spread his wings to catch the mountain winds. He hung in the air and watched as a tiny figure emerged from a passage in the mountain near the seated statue’s head.
“Let us go. We have work to do.”
A wisp of smoke wafted from his nostrils. “No.”
“Boviss, remember who you serve.”
“It is because I serve you that I shall not permit you to turn away from this sight. You, who have made a weapon of me, should give this moment its due respect. For you now wield the only weapon greater than I.”
Reyce, with little recourse, squinted into the rushing wind and watched the mountains below. The figure approached the head of statue. Reyce knew that in the dwarf’s hand was a bronze tablet. It was etched with simple instructions written in ancient Dwarfish. He held his breath. The figure hurried away, having dropped the tablet into a slot in the statue’s head. The mountain began to tremble. Layers of ice and snow, accumulated over decades if not centuries, fractured and tumbled away. A deep, fiery glow smoldered in the statue’s eyes. Joints ground and crackled. Boulders sloughed away from the mountainside and tumbled down the slope. The statue climbed to its feet. It was a thing of grim awe. Nothing so large should ever move of its own accord, and yet there it stood, sturdier and taller than the mightiest fort. It turned to the south and took a step, shaking the slope and sending a rolling thunder through the countryside.
Reyce tried not to think about the havoc it would cause. A part of him had hoped the stories had been false, that the Seven Brothers were nothing but statues and that this fearsome working of dwarfish magic would never stand. But now it stood. Now it had its orders. There was no going back. It would take the whole of the elven army and the full attention of its many wizards and mystics to keep the statue at bay. The elves were powerful. And their agents, the outsiders combing North Crescent for Den and those it protected, were powerful too. Together, perhaps they could turn the golem away. But not before the rest of the plan could play out. With this act, a kingdom would fall.
Finally, the dragon had watched its fill of the awesome sight and shifted to the south and west. Reyce must return to Den. There was little time to move the rest of the pieces into position. To fail now would mean… No. He would not fail now…
#
The war chief himself served as their guide as Myranda and the others made their way toward the so-called New Place. Myranda never would have injured their pride by suggesting it, but she suspected that sending the war chief along was a way for the fairies to give them more time before the Aluall would appear. The war chief was the one who could use the gem to alert them, and thus he could not tell of their arrival until he returned. The other fairies were initially reluctant to leave their place among the horns of the dragons, but with each step away from their home grove, they became more uneasy. Eventually, only the war chief, Shah, and Freet remained with them.
It was a relatively short journey to find the New Place, but the trip was through forest so dense and lush it would have taken them weeks to find it without guidance. The surrounding woods had done their very best to reclaim the place. Even viewed from above, the creeping canopy of nearby hea
lthy trees would have all but swallowed up the damaged section. But at ground level, the scars of the ravenous D’Karon magic were horribly apparent.
Deacon and Myranda hopped down to investigate. Myranda’s mind and body had largely recovered along the way, and she was eager to contribute.
“No telling just how long this place has been free of the magic, but it must be years. Ten at least. Perhaps as many as fifty,” Deacon said.
Myranda crouched and leaned heavily upon her staff to run her fingers through the soil.
“All that time and the shoots and weeds are only just beginning to grow again,” she said. “The D’Karon gems must have been drinking in the strength of the land for ages to do this damage.”
“Something lived here,” Grustim said. “A great many things.”
“Yes,” Myranda agreed. “These furrows and pits. The way they are spaced so regularly, and dug to the same depth. And I see timbers here… I’ve never seen a home like this, though.”
Garr lowered his head and sniffed at the ground. Myn plodded over to his side and imitated. She pawed at a bit of ground, then dug deeply with her claws to bring up some ancient, powdery bone that had been buried a fair distance beneath the surface. She and Garr dug a bit more to turn up a seemingly endless amount. Grustim selected one of the longer bones and turned it over in his hands.
“Prey animals,” Grustim said. “But not butchered.… No. This has been butchered. I can see the clean cut here, but this has certainly been gnawed. They’ve all been gnawed. Perhaps they kept hounds…”
Myranda looked about and tried to put the pieces together, but something at the edge of her mind nagged at her. It wasn’t intuition, or any sense she could identify, but something nearby almost called to her. She shut her eyes and let her mind ease outward. Mostly, she felt the stale deadness of D’Karon-ravaged land. But there was something else. Not a spirit. Indeed, spirits seemed to have abandoned this place. It was something of that ilk, though. Something beyond the physical. She shifted her focus outward and held out her hand. In her palm, her mark smoldered in her mind’s eye. It was always a point of focus, a brighter part of her own soul, but it was pulsing a bit, glowing more powerfully to an almost imperceptible degree. She stepped forward, navigating the remains of what had certainly been a village at one time. As the others investigated in their own way, she followed this strange feeling. It led her past the edge of the more obvious features of the former village. She paced a short distance. Behind her, she could feel that Myn and the fairies were following, but keeping their distance as if they might somehow foul the scent if they came too near.
She stumbled, catching herself with her staff and allowing herself to slip from her trance. The edge of her boot had caught in a slight mound of earth ahead of her. Myn came closer and sniffed at it while Myranda scanned the forest floor around it. Not far from the mound was a large, flat stone. It seemed out of place, too rounded to have come from anywhere but a river. As Myranda flipped it over to investigate, Myn began to paw at the mound.
Myranda’s eyes widened. “Myn, don’t!”
The dragon quickly raised her paw and looked to the stone. The underside was etched with care, tracing out simple letters. A name.
“These are graves…” she said.
Deacon stepped up to the edge of the graveyard.
“Interesting. I’ve never seen a graveyard so near to trees and yet so near to the surface,” he said.
Whatever power was leading Myranda, it was somewhere within the graveyard. She stepped lightly, avoiding the mounds and flat stones. Ahead, there was a mighty tree that still grew strong and healthy despite the withered nature of those around it. She approached it and knelt down. There were three graves, clearly in a place of honor. One seemed considerably older than the others, but all three were traced out with stones, unlike the others, and the facedown grave markers were cut and polished. Myranda gently flipped over the stone of the oldest grave.
“Sorrel…” she said.
When she reached for the grave marker of one of the other graves, her hand tingled and the subdued sense that she’d followed this far became stronger, more acute. These were the graves she was meant to find.
“Reyna. Wren,” Myranda said, turning over the stones one by one. “I think… I don’t know how to put it to words… I can feel the same sort of power lingering here that I searched for when I was trying to join the Chosen. It isn’t the same… But I think these two graves… I think Reyna and Wren may have been of a Chosen bloodline.”
“Chosen? Fascinating…” Deacon said. “Their connection to the divine must have been extremely strong for such an aura to linger so long after death. From the way the roots have grown, they must have been buried when the tree was much younger.”
“Look here,” Grustim called.
He and Garr had approached the same tree from behind. Graves spread out around it like the petals of a flower, and one of them had been churned a bit more by the tree’s growth than the others. It had pushed some of the bones to the surface. Most seemed broadly human. But the skull was certainly not.
“It looks canine. Or… vulpine,” Deacon said, realization in his voice.
“This is a malthrope,” Myranda said. “These are malthropes. Malthropes of a Chosen bloodline,” Myranda said. “These are relatives of Lain. They must be.”
“D’Karon influence, decades old. The presence of those worthy of being Chosen far from the site of the war. The questions this raises—” Deacon said.
“Can wait,” Myranda added. “We aren’t looking for questions, we are looking for answers, and this has provided some. If the Aluall are malthropes, it explains much. They have much the same reputation, and even without magic they would be peerless at remaining unseen.”
“A valuable discovery perhaps, but one that is of little help in our search,” Grustim said.
“Perhaps not…” Deacon said. “Forgive me. I prefer not to present a theory that relies so heavily upon speculation and supposition but—”
“Speak,” Myranda urged. “A guess of yours is nearly as good as a certainty from someone else.”
“If we suppose that these are descendants of Lain, then they are touched with the divine, perhaps more strongly than even you or Myn. And if the Aluall of today are indeed descended from those who once lived here, then that divinity has been bred among them. Look around us. We know that the D’Karon magic is central to their culture. I cannot imagine that any, even those touched with the divine, could have avoided it.”
“And unless they were born with the mark, then utilizing D’Karon magics, even serving a D’Karon cause, would not have killed them,” Myranda reasoned, following his logic.
“You and I have become intimately familiar with what happens when D’Karon magic and the divinely Chosen are mixed. It is like tinder and flame.”
“Of course!” Myranda realized. “Until now we’ve been searching for D’Karon magic, which is devastatingly difficult to detect if properly cast, or trying to detect Ivy, who could similarly be hidden by that magic. But if we were to search for the conflict between the divine and the D’Karon, not just as it might apply to Ivy but as it might apply to other lesser examples of a Chosen bloodline…”
“We could easily have missed it before. We’ve focused so intently upon what we should have been seeing. We could easily have disregarded clues as subtle as this, things we didn’t know to watch for.”
“Enough talk. We have a new thread. Let us pull it and see what unravels.”
#
Ether drifted across the landscape, spread as thinly as she dared, in hopes of catching even a glimpse of something out of place, or a hint of Ivy’s power. Her consciousness spread for miles, but that was still but a pinhole’s view of the sprawling continent, and a thorough search required her to move slowly and deliberately. The other Chosen were conducting their search to the east, so she focused on the western shore. What opened below her was a veritable feast of sights and sounds. T
here was flora and fauna here that was utterly unlike the creatures of the Northern Alliance. This was a place wholly untouched by civilization of any sort, unspoiled from the dawn of the world. Experiencing nature in the absence of society stirred distant memories of her earliest times, the time not so long after the gods had crafted her. It was a time when everything was fresh and wild. A time when chaos reigned, sculpting things according to its own whims. As her mind dwelled upon the distant past, she finally felt something, a twist of magic that certainly was not inherent to the land. She coalesced into her more focused windy form and approached.
Even the sharpest eyes and keenest mind could have looked upon the small cluster of trees not far from the beach and seen nothing of note. Prior to her rather frustrating stay in Grandwinn, Ether might not have noticed it herself. But the trees here, a silver-barked variety present on both North and South Crescent, were not entirely as nature decreed. The residual magic was impossibly faint, its effects almost entirely wiped out from centuries without maintenance. Nonetheless, to Ether’s eye, these trees bore the unmistakable touch of elven architecture. The branches curled toward each other. Had they received a few more years of gentle guidance, they might have interwoven to form the roof of a grand hall. Tiny indents in the surface of a stout-trunked tree were the abandoned beginnings of a doorway.
Ether shifted from wind to stone and knelt beside one of the trees. She pressed her fingertips into the hard earth as easily as the surface of a lake. A curl of will caused the ground around her to shudder and tremble. As the soil shifted, fragments of rough-hewn wood and bits of stone that had seen the touch of a mason’s chisel emerged from below. This had been an elven town, one well established enough to have been in the progress of moving beyond its brick and timber infancy into the more harmonious form present in the more established parts of Sonril. That implied it had been years old when it had suddenly been left behind by its residents.
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