The Cerulean Storm

by Denning, Troy

  On the other side of the bottleneck, the canyon opened into a large circular valley. It was enclosed on every side by sheer walls of red-stained stone, many times the height of a giant. Like the cliffs of the bottleneck, these were pocked by mine openings. Those near the top could be seen as dark circles on the moonlit rock faces. Rikus knew that there were also several mine tunnels near the bottom of the cliffs, though they were hidden behind huge mounds of waste rock that covered most of the valley floor.

  An angry bellow echoed up the stony canyon, then the walls began to shake with the steady crash of heavy footsteps. Rikus looked back down the gorge. The dwarves of the first two companies were beginning to peer nervously over their shoulders. The mul could not see the two companies bringing up the rear, for the gorge took a sharp bend.

  Rikus joined Neeva, telling her, “There’s a huge tunnel on the far side. I think it connects to most of the others, so let’s go over there. Once the giants think they have us trapped, we can duck inside, then come out from the other mines and harass them from behind. With luck, we may even be able to circle back and block the canyon.”

  Neeva nodded and passed the order back. The mul entered the valley, picking his way between mounds of red-stained waste rock and the stone foundations of several huge buildings. Neeva and the dwarves came close behind him, their armor filling the still valley with a clatter such as had not been heard there in a thousand years.

  Finally, upon reaching the back of the gorge, they slipped from between two piles of rubble and came upon a small area of open ground. It was located beneath a towering cliff that seemed to rise straight to the crescent moons. At the base of the scarp, a tunnel ran toward the heart of the mountain. Though the passage was easily broad enough for three dwarves to walk down and high enough that an elf could have stood inside it at his full height, it was not so large that a giant would be able to do more than thrust an arm inside.

  From the far side of the valley rumbled Patch’s deep voice. “There they are, Fosk!”

  Rikus looked toward the entrance in time to see the giant’s immense form stepping into the valley, his shoulders turned sideways so he could fit through the narrow gap. He was pointing toward the open space in front of the tunnel, where the dwarven companies were gathering.

  “Let’s draw them closer,” Rikus said. “Make it look like we’ll fight here.”

  Neeva traced a line in front of the cavern entrance. “Form ranks by companies!” she ordered.

  The dwarves rushed toward the place she had indicated, milling about purposefully. Although the scene seemed one of utter confusion to Rikus, each of Neeva’s warriors seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

  While they arranged themselves, Patch and one warrior—probably Fosk, judging by the name Rikus had heard a moment ago—entered the valley. In three steps, they had already walked more than a quarter of the way across. The mul did not see the other two giants.

  At Rikus’s side, Neeva suddenly cried, “Sult? Where in the name of Ral are you?”

  The mul looked toward the tunnel entrance, where he saw three ranks of dwarves standing with axes drawn and bucklers guarding their chests. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sult Ltak and his Granite Company are missing,” Neeva reported.

  Just then, a giant’s angry bellow rolled across the valley, followed by the distant sound of crumpling armor. Rikus looked back toward the canyon. Beyond the lumbering forms of Patch and Fosk, he saw a third titan kicking madly at something on the ground.

  “They’re still in the canyon!” Rikus said. “They must have fallen behind!”

  “Either that, or stayed on purpose,” said Caelum, coming to the mul’s side. “The yalmus of the Granite Company is a brave man—sometimes overly so.”

  “You think he’d hang back on purpose?” Rikus gasped.

  Neeva nodded. “If he thought he could kill a giant, he would.”

  In the dark shadows of the narrow canyon, the mul could see little, only the silhouette of a huge knee rising and falling as the giant stomped at his attackers. Curt death cries and the creak of folding armor suggested that the brute’s foot found its target all too often, but Rikus could also hear a softer sound: the incessant thump, thump, thump of dwarven axe blades biting into tough flesh.

  Looking back to Patch, Rikus said, “Call him back, Neeva. They’ll be wiped out.” Neeva shook her head. “I can’t do that, even if Sult Ltak’s men would obey,” she said. “They’ve declared for honor.”

  “Declared for honor?” the mul asked.

  “You remember how Yarig fought?” Neeva replied.

  Rikus groaned. “They wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  He and Neeva had trained with a dwarf named Yarig during their days in Tithian’s gladiator pits. Before each match, the squat gladiator would make victory over his opponents his life focus.

  Neeva nodded. “In Kled, they call that declaring for honor,” she said. “Sult and his warriors must kill the giant or die trying. If they retreat now, it’s the same as breaking their life focus. They’ll become banshees when they die.”

  “I thought your militia was disciplined!” Rikus snapped. He cursed and kicked at the ground. He barely noticed as his callused foot sent a melon-sized stone rolling away.

  “It’s not Sult’s fault,” Neeva said. “Every yalmus has the right—even the responsibility—to act on his own initiative.”

  “Sult is dividing the enemy’s forces, just as Neeva taught him,” added Caelum.

  The mul cursed the dwarf’s initiative and tried to think of a way to save the company. During the war with Urik, too many brave warriors had died needlessly for him to want to see the same thing happen to the Granite Company.

  Before anything came to mind, Patch and Fosk surprised the mul by stopping their advances. The giants stood thirty of Rikus’s paces away—only five or six of their own—and glared down at the three ranks of dwarven warriors.

  Rikus drew his sword and stepped forward. The blade remained gray with the stain of the wraith attack, and the weapon’s magic did not seem quite as powerful as before. Although the Scourge brought the dying screams of Sult Ltak’s dwarves to his ears more clearly, he still could not understand their words—as he would normally have been able to do.

  “Where is our Oracle?” demanded Patch.

  “If you want to talk, call off your warrior’s attack,” Rikus countered, pointing toward the gorge.

  Patch peered over his shoulder then looked back down at Rikus with his one uncovered eye. He smiled, revealing a cruel set of filed yellow teeth. “Not until you answer.”

  Rikus sighed, then said, “We don’t have it here.”

  “We knew that when your ugly little dwarves started shooting needles instead of giving it to us,” sneered Fosk, standing a step behind his leader. “Where have you hidden it?”

  “If you make us call the rest of the tribe to break into Tyr, we’ll raze the city,” warned Patch. “We won’t leave nothing standing.”

  “There are many powerful wizards in Tyr—including the one who imprisoned your war party this morning,” Rikus bluffed. “Besides, we only need to borrow the Lens. We’ll give it back as soon as we kill the Dragon.”

  Patch’s single eye went as round as the sun, and Fosk could not stop himself from stepping forward.

  “No!” boomed the giant leader. “Especially not for that!”

  Rikus frowned. “The Dragon is everyone’s enemy,” the mul said. “He may not take giants to fill his levy, but it’s his magic—and that of his followers, the sorcerer-kings—that turned Athas into a wasteland.”

  “Better to live in a wasteland than to die in a paradise,” countered Fosk.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rikus asked.

  Patch and Fosk looked at each other with blank expressions. Then, as if it would explain everything, the leader said, “That’s what Jo’orsh and Sa’ram say.”

  “What do you know of Jo’orsh and Sa’ram?” demanded Ca
elum, stepping to Rikus’s side.

  “They gave us the Oracle,” Patch informed him. “They said if we lose it, almost everyone on Athas could die.”

  “Then they must have changed their minds,” Neeva said, joining the pair. “Because they’re the ones who told us that it was time to kill the Dragon.”

  Fosk’s cavernous mouth dropped open, and Patch raised the brow of his uncovered eye in disbelief. “They’re here?” asked Fosk.

  “They visited us ten days ago,” Rikus said. He carefully avoided any mention of Rkard, deciding that he would leave it to Neeva to reveal or keep secret what the banshees had said about the boy’s destiny. “They said nothing about returning the Lens to the giants.”

  Patch scowled doubtfully. “If you really saw them, what’d they look like?”

  “They were the size of giants—not quite as big as you, but close,” Neeva replied. “They were nothing but bone, all twisted up. One had a skull, and the other didn’t. Neither one had any skin, but both had orange eyes and long gray beards.”

  Patch ran a hand through his snarled hair braids. “And they didn’t take our Oracle back?” he gasped. “Where are they?”

  Neeva started to answer, but Rikus raised a hand to keep her from speaking. “First, stop your warrior from smashing any more of our friends.”

  Patch motioned to Fosk, who turned and bellowed, “Galt, leave them guys alone for a minute—but don’t let ’em out ’til Patch says.”

  Galt reluctantly stepped back. He grabbed a huge boulder and dropped it into place at the mouth of the canyon. Rikus heard the sound of crumpling armor, then dozens of angry dwarves screaming for the giant to come back and fight.

  “Right now, we don’t know where Jo’orsh and Sa’ram are,” Rikus said. “We haven’t seen them since they said it was time to kill the Dragon. But I suspect they’ve gone to protect the Lens until we get there.”

  “Get where?” Patch demanded. “Our Oracle isn’t in Tyr?”

  Rikus smiled, proud of himself for salvaging their original plan. Even with Sadira unconscious, it seemed he would be able to lure the giants away from Tyr—perhaps even convince them to abandon their demand for the Lens altogether.

  “No, Agis didn’t bring the Dark Lens back to Tyr,” Rikus said. “He sent word for us to meet him someplace else.”

  Fosk scowled, and Patch narrowed his eye. “Agis told you to meet him?”

  “Yes,” Rikus replied. “We’ll leave as soon—”

  “Liar!” Fosk thundered. He stooped down and scooped up an entire pile of waste rock.

  Caelum touched his palm to the crimson sun on his forehead and pointed his other hand at the giant. Rays of scarlet light shot from between the dwarf’s fingers, illuminating the valley in eerie, flickering hues as they streaked over and enveloped the titan’s hand.

  When Fosk whipped his arm forward, no stones flew from his hand. Pink balls of sticky, bubbling gel arced off the ends of his fingers, igniting small circles of flame wherever they spattered. The drops that fell on the ground flared briefly and faded, but the burning sludge stayed in Fosk’s hand. The giant screamed in pain and slapped the hand at his thigh, kindling a fire even larger than the one he was attempting to put out. Finally, he simply dropped to the ground and began to roll, sending clouds of dust high into the sky.

  “Nicely done, husband,” said Neeva.

  Rikus grunted his agreement. Keeping a watchful eye on Patch, who was studying the fallen giant with a wary scowl, the mul asked, “How many other spells do you have like that?”

  “That was my most effective. That’s why I saved it,” Caelum replied. “It may not kill him, but it should keep him from bothering us, for now.”

  “Perhaps Magnus will have some wind-magic—”

  “I doubt he’ll be coming,” Rikus interrupted. “I assigned him to slow the giants back at the farm. He must have gotten trapped on the other side, or he’d be here by now.”

  As the mul spoke, Patch looked back toward the gorge. “Kill the dwarves, Galt!” he yelled. “All of ’em!”

  Neeva spun around, commanding, “Into the tunnel. Now!”

  As the dwarves obeyed, the mul shook his head in bewilderment. “Stop it, Patch!” he yelled, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “I thought you understood. Jo’orsh and Sa’ram don’t want the Lens back.”

  “Be quiet, little liar!” Patch countered. He picked up a huge boulder and stepped toward the mul. “Agis died in the Bay of Woe.”

  “You’re the one who’s lying!” Rikus yelled. “Agis is alive. He just sent us a message!”

  “Tithian stole our Oracle,” Patch insisted. “And you’re trying to hide him.”

  The titan hurled the stone with both hands. It arced toward Rikus. He had time to see that it was easily large enough to flatten both him and his companions. The mul brought the Scourge up and slashed at the rock with all his strength.

  Rikus did not feel the enchanted blade biting into the boulder, as he had expected. His arm just went numb. A loud, clanging knell punched at his eardrums, and a black flash erupted from where his sword had met the rock. The dirt vanished from beneath his feet, and he felt himself being slammed into the ground by a tremendous blast. Everything fell quiet, and he expected to feel the crushing weight of the boulder smashing down on his body.

  Instead, he was pelted by a stinging hail of gravel shards. He found himself gasping for breath as he struggled to draw air back into his lungs and marveled that he had survived.

  “Rikus!” Neeva screamed.

  “I’m fine,” he groaned. The mul ran a hand over a stinging cut above his ear then picked himself up off the ground, nearly fell, and put out a hand to steady himself.

  It was then that he realized he no longer held the Scourge.

  “My sword,” he growled, shaking his head and glaring in Patch’s direction.

  “There,” Neeva replied. “It exploded.”

  She pointed to the ground next to where Rikus had landed. The Scourge of Rkard lay in two pieces, still tainted gray and now disjoined about midway between the tip and hilt. From the jagged ends of the blade oozed a stream of black fluid, thicker than syrup and smelling as foul as a briny well. Instead of sinking into the dirt, the liquid drew up into glistening beads, which immediately rolled toward each other and began to form a single, much larger glob.

  A cold ache rolled over Rikus’s entire body. “No!” he cried, snatching the two pieces of his sword off the ground.

  The mul spattered his fingers with several drops of the black fluid. The beads quickly rolled over his hand and started up his wrist, leaving a stinging trail of blisters in their wake. He yelled in surprise and whipped his hand downward, flinging the liquid onto the ground.

  “What is that stuff?” he gasped, watching the beads crawl toward the larger blob on the ground.

  “What does it matter now?” responded Caelum. He pointed toward Patch, who had grabbed another boulder and was raising it to throw again. “Let’s go!”

  With that, the dwarf seized the mul’s arm and pulled him into the tunnel. Patch’s boulder crashed down outside and bounced off the cliff wall, filling the mine with a resonant boom.

  Caelum led them into the deep recesses of the cavern, where the three remaining companies of Kled’s militia waited safely beyond the giant’s reach. The dwarves had not bothered to strike torches. When there was no true light available, their eyes detected the ambient heat emitted by all objects. It was an ability they had inherited from their ancient ancestors, who had lived out their entire lives in the black snugness of subterranean depths. Since he was a half-dwarf himself, Rikus was also blessed with this gift.

  From outside came Patch’s distant voice, deriding the dwarves as pointy-eared cowards, backstabbing thieves who couldn’t grow a hair braid among them, and a dozen other names that he considered insulting. Each time the giant uttered another indignity, the tunnel trembled with the impact of another boulder hitting the cliff face outside. Once,
a stone even entered the mine and rattled around the collar for a few moments before coming to a harmless rest.

  Caelum stepped over to Rikus’s side, his hand already glowing with crimson light.

  “My healing magic is not as strong at night,” he said, gesturing toward the gash above the mul’s ear. “But at least I can stop the bleeding.”

  Rikus pulled away. “Wait a minute. I have an idea.”

  The mul looked at the Scourge’s broken blade. The black fluid continued to drip from its jagged breaks. Enough of the stuff had gathered on the tunnel floor to create a knee-high blob.

  Rikus fit the two pieces of his sword together and held it toward Caelum.

  “What do you want me to do?” the dwarf asked. He stared blankly at the blade and the dark fluid dripping from it. “I’m no smith.”

  “If you were, you’d know steel doesn’t bleed.” Rikus pointed his chin at the oozing seam between the broken pieces of blade. “So heal it.”

  “Mend steel?”

  “Just try it,” Rikus interrupted. “What can it hurt?”

  The dwarf shook his head then reached for the seam.

  Rikus put out a restraining hand. “Can’t you do it without touching it?” he asked. “That stuff stings.”

  “Pain is nothing new to me,” the dwarf replied, closing his fingers around the Scourge.

  As his hand contacted the black liquid, Caelum drew sharp breaths between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut but did not pull away. A soft sizzle echoed off the tunnel’s stony walls, and sparks spewed from between the dwarf’s fingers, filling the dark passage with fleeting flashes of orange light. Sweat poured off Caelum’s brow and his muscles trembled, but still he did not pull away.

  “Is that going to work?” Neeva asked, stepping to her husband’s side.

  “I hope so,” replied Caelum. “Without the Scourge, I don’t know how Rkard is going to kill Borys.”

  The dwarf held his hand over the seam for several more moments. Finally, when no more black fluid dripped from between his fingers onto the blob at his feet, Caelum took his hand away from the Scourge.

  The blade separated into two pieces, but the ends had ceased to drip. Disappointed, Rikus slipped the broken tip into his scabbard for safekeeping. “At least you stopped the bleeding.”