Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga)

by Kristian Alva

  Chapter 7: Jutland

  The next morning was freezing cold, but clear. Thorin awoke before dawn and boiled some chicory root, making a delicious hot beverage for both of them. “Here you go, boy. Drink this up; it will warm your bones.” Thorin handed Elias half a cold biscuit and a steaming cup of root coffee.

  “Thanks.” Elias accepted the tin cup gratefully. “This smells wonderful.”

  “Drink up. We have a long distance to cover. First, we’ll buy you a horse in Jutland. Then we’ll travel to the Elder Willow.”

  “How long will it take for us to reach the Elder Willow?” asked Elias.

  “On horseback? At least a fortnight. Maybe longer. It’s at the eastern edge of the forest. We’ll have to cross Orvasse River, too.”

  “Orvasse River! I’ve never traveled so far east. ”

  “There’s a first time for everything, boy. After that, I expect that I’ll be taking you back with me to Mount Velik, which is in the north, past the emperor’s palace. We’ll have to be very careful near Morholt.”

  “We’re going to the capital?”

  “No, we’ll be going around it. I’m not sure if we’ll be following the coast or travelling inland. Either way, it’s a dangerous journey. Get used to travelling, lad—you’re in for an adventure.” Thorin smiled, but his eyes were serious. They finished the rest of their breakfast in silence, and then Elias scattered the evidence of their fire and covered the coals with dirt. As they exited the cave, Elias noticed Duster grazing on a stubborn patch of grass. Thorin placed their packs on Duster’s back, and they were off.

  Both of them walked, with Duster trotting happily behind. Their pace was brisk. Elias warmed up quickly. After a few hours, he so hot that he had to remove his cloak. They didn’t stop for lunch—they ate cold rabbit and drank water along the way.

  Thorin hummed old dwarvish songs most of the time. Elias understood a few words here and there—remnants of the old language that pervaded the speech of every race on the continent. Sometimes Thorin talked about the history of the dwarves and their accomplishments. It was interesting, if nothing else. Elias had never met another dwarf, and Thorin’s stories seemed supernatural. From the stories, Elias deduced that Thorin was at least a hundred years old. He wanted to ask his age, but he wasn’t sure if it was impolite to do so.

  While he was growing up, Elias prodded his grandmother for information, and she was always reluctant to give it. Thorin spoke freely of his people and his grandmother’s exploits. It seemed incredible that he was talking about the same person—Elias never imagined that his quiet grandmother had such a wild history.

  The trees grew sparser as the afternoon wore on, and eventually they arrived at a clearing at the top of a hill. In the distance, Elias could see the city of Jutland on the horizon. The city appeared larger than he remembered.

  “There she is, boy. Old Jutland. Looks pretty much the same as I remember. The walls are taller; and they’ve replaced the old wooden drawbridge for an iron gate. Everyone is more cautious, it seems. I’ll put on my hood and ride Duster into the city. Although it’s not unheard of for a dwarf to be travelling this far south, it’s best if we avoid attracting any unnecessary attention.” Thorin mounted Duster and tucked his long beard inside his cloak. Riding on the pony, it was difficult to determine Thorin’s height, and with his beard hidden away, he didn’t look much different from anyone else coming into the city.

  A few hours later, they arrived at the city gate and got in line behind a slew of merchants and peasants wandering into the city.

  Thorin whispered, “Listen boy, if anyone asks, my name’s Brand and you’re my son, Tyr. We’re here to buy a horse—no reason to lie about that. Keep your story simple and you’re less likely to stumble on a lie. Keep your hood on—it will help conceal your appearance, and it won’t seem odd because it’s cold.” Elias nodded.

  They reached the city gates just after sunset. As they approached the gate, Elias became nervous. He couldn’t help it. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Two watchmen stood at the gate. “What business do you have in Jutland?” asked the skinny guard, who had greasy hair and several missing teeth.

  “We’ve come to Jutland to purchase a horse,” answered Thorin.

  The watchman eyed them both. He spotted Thorin’s ornate iron brooch, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Where are you coming from?” asked the watchman, this time with interest.

  “We’ve travelled from Gardarsholm.”

  “Humph. That’s a long way to travel for a horse. Why didn’t ye just go to the city of Faerroe? It’s a lot closer.”

  “There’s a horse breeder I trust here—Everyone knows that Faerroe is full of cheats and thieves, and I don’t want to buy an animal just to have it die on the way home!” spat Thorin. He pounded his fist into his palm for good measure.

  “What’s the name of your breeder friend?” asked the guard in one final attempt to trip him up.

  “His name’s Floki Revansson,” replied Thorin calmly.

  The guard was satisfied and waved them in. “Go ahead, then. But stay out of trouble while you’re here. I’ve got a funny feelin’ about both of ye!” The guard wagged his finger accusingly.

  As soon as they were inside the city walls, Elias expelled a huge breath. “That was close!” he whispered.

  “Aye. They’re askin’ a lot of questions. Everyone’s on edge. There’s something afoot. We’d better get your horse and leave as soon as possible. I’d hoped to spend at least a day in the city and partake of some ale and hearty food, but we shouldn’t risk it. That’s a shame, because there are quite a few nice eateries in Jutland.”

  “So you’ve been here before?” asked Elias. “You knew the name of a horse breeder.”

  “Yes, I’ve visited Jutland a few times. Floki Revansson is my cousin. We were raised together. He’s a half-ling—his mother was human and his father was a dwarf. He’s a gifted breeder—he raises some of the best livestock outside of Mount Velik. My clan would gladly have him, but Floki prefers to live with humans.”

  They walked to the heart of the city. Beggars and cart merchants lined the streets. A toothless woman sold black bread from the back of a donkey cart, and another farmer sold bags of dried corn on the roadside. The streets were full of litter. Elias couldn’t believe how dirty the city was.

  “Don’t they ever clean the streets?” asked Elias.

  “The city square looks worse than I remember. Keep walking. Floki’s house is in the north part of town.”

  They continued to walk north, and the neighborhood improved. The beggars disappeared. As the last of the light vanished, they found themselves before Floki’s shop. A weathered sign hung from iron rings above. It said ‘Revansson’ and displayed a carved image of a horse.

  “This must be it,” said Elias.

  “Yes, I remember the sign. It’s a good thing, too—all the other businesses have shut their doors for the night, and the streets are dark. I’m glad we found it.” Thorin walked up to the door and pounded the knocker. “Ho, ho there! Open up!” He continued to bang on the door for several minutes.

  “What the blazes? Come back tomorrow! We’re closed!” The door flung open, and a short man greeted them with a scowl.

  “What, you don’t have time for an old friend?” Thorin removed his hood and winked.

  A look of shocked recognition passed over Floki’s face. “Thorin? Is that you?” he whispered.

  “One in the same!” Thorin hopped off of Duster’s back and grabbed Floki in a rough embrace. “How are you, cousin?”

  “What a surprise!” said Floki, with a wide grin. Then he whispered, “Let’s chat inside. It’s not safe to talk out in the open.” He ushered Thorin and Elias into the house, which was richly furnished and spotless. “I’ll have my son put Duster in our stables for the night.” Floki pointed a finger at his son, about eleven, and the boy jumped up immediately and grabbed Duster’s reins.

  “Yes, father?�
�� asked the boy.

  “Parvel, make sure that the pony is fed. Don’t dawdle. Come back inside as quickly as possible.” The boy nodded and disappeared, leading Duster to the stable behind the house.

  Thorin marveled at the boy. “This is Parvel? Amazing how times flies. Last time I saw you, he was just a babe.”

  “Yes, he’s grown up fine and strong. We’ve recently had another child; this is my daughter, Molly.” Floki pointed at a chubby brown-haired baby playing with a ragdoll in the middle of the floor. She giggled, revealing a single tooth. “My wife, Halda, is outside gathering firewood. She’ll be back in a moment. Why don’t you both sit down?”

  Thorin and Elias walked into the cozy living room. It was tiny, but warm and inviting. “So… who’s your friend?” asked Floki, nodding at Elias.

  “This is Elias, grandson of Carina Dorgumir. We’re travelling together, and Elias needs a mount. I’m hoping to buy one of your fine horses—at a good price, of course.”

  “Grandson of Carina, eh? I knew something of your grandmother, boy. She’s a legend,” said Floki.

  “Really?” asked Elias, still surprised that so many people knew his grandmother.

  “Yes, really. Your grandmother saved my father’s life. She saved him more than once, actually. Both of my parents died fighting in the Dragon War. I was raised by Thorin’s clan. We grew up as brothers.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” said Elias. “Why did you leave Mount Velik?”

  Thorin answered. “Even though my clan treated Floki like family, the other clans don’t take kindly to half-lings. They’re discriminated against.”

  “Yes,” nodded Floki. “I got tired of being treated like an outsider. I could always pass as human, so I left the mountain as soon as I was old enough to find a mate. I wandered the countryside for a bit, and I finally met Halda,” said Floki.

  “So your wife is human?” asked Elias.

  “My wife is one-quarter dwarf—she’s a quarter-ling. Her grandmother was a dwarf. Once we found each other, we got married and settled in Jutland. I started breeding horses. Business is steady, so we’ve been here ever since.”

  A chubby blonde woman dressed in breeches and a long apron walked in through the back door, carrying a pile of cut firewood. She was a few inches taller than her husband, but otherwise they looked similar. Halda’s hands were large and callused, proof of years of hard work.

  “We have visitors this late in the evening?” she said. Then she saw Thorin and smiled broadly. “By the stars! Thorin, is that you? Why, you haven’t aged a single day!” She hurried over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “And you, my dear, are as pretty as the first day we met,” smiled Thorin, winking.

  “Oh stop, you old flirt!” Halda scolded playfully.

  After introductions and a few pleasantries, Halda said, “You must be famished. I’ll get you some hot stew and ale.”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Elias. And he meant it.

  “She’s a good woman, that one,” said Thorin, smiling at Floki and his family.

  Floki’s son returned from the stable and latched the door. Halda set the table with plenty of hot food and ale. They settled down to a hearty meal. Halda nursed the baby right at the table. The food was simple and delicious. Elias ate with relish.

  After the meal, Halda ushered the children out of the living room to prepare them for bed. She closed the door, giving the men some privacy. Thorin gave Floki a brief account of their trip, but he didn’t mention the dragon stone.

  “Jutland seems changed, cousin,” said Thorin.

  Floki nodded gravely, “It’s been worse the last few years, Thorin. There’s more beggars and bandits than I’ve ever seen, and Jutland is crawling with empire soldiers. An army captain took one of my best stallions. He said it was ‘for the empire’—but I didn’t see any payment, and probably never will! Halda and I have thought about moving, but where? Faerroe is even worse, and Gardarshlom already has three other horse breeders. It’s certainly not safer anywhere else.”

  “Well, you know you’ll always be welcome in my house, cousin.”

  “To be honest, we’ve even thought about travelling to Mount Velik. We’d have to sell everything in order to move. The house, the horses—we’d just keep a few for the journey. It’s a terrible time to leave the city. Halda and Parvel can ride well, but the Molly is still nursing. The road to Mount Velik is treacherous. It’s no place for an infant.” Floki shook his head with worry.

  “Aye, you’re right. But I know something that might help you make a decision.”

  “What’s that?” asked Floki, lifting his head from his hands.

  “War is coming, my friend,” said Thorin sadly. “Even as we speak, the emperor is massing his armies in the east. Our king, Hergung, already sent messengers to Parthos with a warning. The dwarves have remained neutral up until this point, but if Vosper attempts to march on Mount Velik, we will join the fight.”

  “Is Vosper powerful enough to capture Mount Velik and Parthos?” asked Elias.

  “Not yet… but he will soon,” replied Thorin. “Vosper instituted forced conscription in the capital. All able-bodied men in Morholt must join the army or die. They aren’t given a choice. The emperor’s necromancers bind the soldiers with magical oaths. If they try to defect, they are killed. Vosper is taking everyone above thirteen years of age. Already all the villages around the capital city have been emptied, leaving only women, old men, and babies.”

  “Blast!” said Floki, pounding his fist on the table. “That means they will take me and my son,”

  “Yes… most likely,” said Thorin.

  “And if we travel to Mount Velik?” asked Floki. “What can we expect there?”

  “You’ll likely be fighting for the dwarves. Either way, you’re stuck. You’ll be forced to fight for one side or the other. There’s no way around it, really.”

  “What about the Death Sands? Do you think we could make it to Parthos?” asked Floki.

  “Honestly? No,” said Thorin. “It’s a brutal trek, even without children. You’ll have to get by Vosper’s soldiers at the border, and then make your way across the desert. You’ll have a better chance reaching Mount Velik.”

  “You have given me much to think about.” Floki sighed heavily. “I must speak with my wife, and we will decide what to do together. Let’s stop this discouraging talk. Now, how can I help you both?”

  “I need a horse,” said Elias. “We’ll be travelling north, to Mount Velik. It’s too far to go on foot.” Elias glanced over at Thorin. He left out the part about visiting the Elder Willow. He sensed it was something he shouldn’t mention.

  “Alright. We’ll choose a horse for you tomorrow. Tonight, both of you are my honored guests. Please make yourselves comfortable. The fire will keep you warm, but there are two wool blankets in the corner should you need them.” Floki pointed near the fireplace, where two grey blankets were stacked neatly on top of a barrel.

  “Thank you,” said Elias. “This sure beats sleeping outside in the snow.”

  Floki retired to the bedroom. A few minutes later, Elias heard Floki talking to Halda in lowered voices. Moments later, he could hear Halda crying. The atmosphere was bleak, but Thorin seemed unfazed by it. He just kept humming softly as usual. He spread out a blanket on the floor and was snoring within minutes.

  Elias couldn’t sleep. He felt a whirlwind of emotions. Then he remembered his grandmother’s journal—he’d almost forgotten about it. Elias crawled over to his pack and dug out the journal. He touched the leather gently, his eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye,” he thought. The book was wrapped with a thin hemp cord, which he untied. Parchment was expensive, and this little book must have cost Carina a small fortune. The inside cover was decorated with runes that Elias did not recognize. There was a folded note tucked into the spine, and Elias pulled it out and recognized Carina’s spidery writing.

/>   “My dear Elias, if you are reading this, it means that I am dead, and the time for secrecy is over. Please believe that I only kept things from you for your own safety. I have been working as a spy for King Mitca for nearly forty cycles, well before you were born. You already know that your mother died during the war, shortly after she gave birth to you. Your mother was Ionela. Your father was Chua, a dragon rider. Some believe that Chua was a traitor—that he betrayed the riders during the war and turned spy for the emperor. I never believed it. You will understand that one day.

  I lived among the dwarves for many years. If you ever find yourself with nowhere to go, make your way to Mount Velik. The dwarves will shelter you. They owe me at least that much. This book is my legacy to you. Read it. It holds knowledge of my spells and maps of the land. You have magical abilities—greater than my own. I tried to teach you as best I could without compromising your safety. I wish you would have had a true apprenticeship under an experienced spellcaster, but it was not to be. Study these spells, for the information will likely save your life, or the life of someone you love. Be cautious and trust your instincts above all else. I am proud of you, my grandson.”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks. Elias folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. Then he changed his mind, and opened it, reading it again. “This note is too dangerous for me to keep,” he thought. Although it pained him to do so, he tossed his grandmother’s note into the fire, where it burned with blue light. “I’ll never be as reckless as I was before. Telling that loudmouth Frogar about the dragon stone cost me everything, but I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  He flipped through the journal. There were dozens of healing spells, some of which he already knew. There were also a fair number of defensive spells, illusions, and even a few attack spells. “One of these must be the spell that Carina used against the soldiers,” he thought. He vowed to memorize them all, starting with the first. He fell asleep practicing the spells.

  ***