“I am learning things about Lyramoor’s life,” Kyrkon continued. “Things that I certainly did not know. There is much of it that I think I should share with the rest of you.”
Qenzic took a worried step forward. “Maybe you shouldn’t go into his past. There are many things he never wanted people to know.”
Kyrkon inclined his head towards the human. “That is true. And he has been telling me much the same. Whether it was deserved or not he felt great shame about what happened in his past. But now that Lyramoor is dead, those reasons for secrecy are gone. I think it is crucial that you understand him and why he became the way he was.” He looked around at the rest of the group and raised his voice. “I think it’s important that all of you that knew him understand.”
With that said, Kyrkon launched into the story of Lyramoor’s life. He told the assembled about Lyramoor’s abduction as a young child and how he was raised and taught by the same dwarf smugglers who stole him. He didn’t go into great detail of the years Lyramoor was a blood slave, but he explained enough of the elf’s daily pain and humiliation to turn the stomachs of those listening.
Poor Lyr-moor, thought Rufus and Fist had to agree. Two hundred years of that kind of torture? No wonder he had become so distant to others.
Then came the tale of Lyramoor’s rescue by Sabre Vlad and the years he spent searching for ways to guarantee that he could never be captured and used again, his one companion a small dog that was bound within him. Kyrkon spoke of Lyramoor’s joining the Dremaldrian Battle Academy and fierce loyalty to Vlad and his son Qenzic.
“Sabre Vlad made Lyramoor his right hand man and in return Lyramoor trusted Vlad more than anyone alive. He was the only man that knew all his secrets. All but one,” Kyrkon said ominously. “There was one secret; one habit Lyramoor had that he told no one about.”
The crowd leaned forward.
“I think that’s enough!” Qenzic interrupted, raising his hands . “Any secret Lyramoor held that closely is one that we should respect.”
Kyrkon shook his head. “It must be told regardless of Lyramoor’s wishes. Otherwise there is no way for you to understand his sacrifice and the part he played in the Priestess of War’s destruction.”
The elf met Qenzic’s gaze and, once he was sure the human had backed down, continued his story raising his voice to the crowd. “Lyramoor’s secret habit had to do with his obsession to remain free. He had successfully passed himself off as a half elf. He had joined an organization that had set itself at odds with dwarven smugglers. But that was not enough. He began eating a substance called Panthel root.”
Kyrkon glanced around expecting a reaction, but the only one to show any recognition of the root was Locksher. The wizard was watching him intently, one eyebrow raised.
“Panthel root is a deadly poison to elves,” Kyrkon said. “Lyramoor ate a small amount every day. Not enough to kill him, but enough to cause him great pain. In his memories it was as if his very blood was on fire.”
“Why would he go and do that?” Lenny wondered and from the looks on everyone else’s faces they were wondering the same.
“Because as his body adapted to this poison it caused a change in his body,” Kyrkon explained. “And after twenty years of pain, he had become something different from any other elf.”
Locksher’s other eyebrow rose and he blurted out, “His blood became toxic!”
Kyrkon nodded in response. “This guaranteed he could never be a blood slave again. But then he was captured by the Priestess of War. He found a way to fool his friends into thinking he was dead so that they wouldn’t come after him. She tortured him for several days, but the items he had implanted in his body kept her from learning his secrets.”
“So he was still alive,” said Qenzic, his voice haunted. Fist’s heart hurt for him. He knew what pain this information must be causing the man.
Kyrkon gave him a sad smile. “He knew that the battle was coming and he had heard the Priestess’ plans. Early this morning, while the Priestess went out to taunt our army, he found a way to kill her current blood slave. When she returned and found her source of blood magic dead, she decided to use Lyramoor instead. She drank his blood and that was when she discovered what his use of Panthel root had done. The toxic magic in his blood burned through her, destroying her ability to use blood magic.”
“His blood cured her of vampirism!” Locksher said in sudden understanding.
“And weakened her greatly,” Kyrkon said. “She killed him in a fit of rage before going out to fight her final battle.”
The air was filled with stunned silence. The humans’ eyes were wide. The ogres scratched their heads.
“So what we fought was a weak Priestess of War?” Fist asked, swallowing at the thought.
“You can see why I wished you to know this,” said Kyrkon. “Lyramoor was content to pass on without his friends knowing the extent of his deeds. I was not.”
Several cries of “Lyramooor!” echoed again from the ogre crowd and Rufus echoed them in his staccato voice.
His eulogy complete, Kyrkon thanked the crowd before approaching Qenzic. “You were right.”
“About which part?” Qenzic asked.
“About what he wanted done with his body. He cannot be returned to Pruball. It is very likely that his remains would poison the soil of our homeland. His wishes are to be cremated. Whether it is done here or at the Academy is up to you.” The elf placed a hand on Qenzic’s shoulder. “One last thing. There is a decision that Lyramoor wanted you to make. It is about Tiko.”
Qenzic blinked. “I didn’t consider that part. What will become of Tiko when Lyramoor is cremated?”
“It is up to you,” Kyrkon replied. “If we do nothing, the orb will be destroyed by the fire. Tiko will be released. However, Lyramoor said he would be willing to leave Tiko with you.”
“Me?” Qenzic said in surprise.
“Lyramoor was saddened that you were being left alone. He thought that Tiko could bring you the same kind of comfort he brought him,” Kyrkon replied.
“That stubborn elf. Still worried about me.” Qenzic sighed. “Is Lyramoor still with you?”
“No. Though his memories still remain in my mind, his spirit has moved on.” Letting out a silent chuckle, he added. “He left just after I told his story. The last thing he said to me was that he was going to find Sabre Vlad again.”
Qenzic nodded, a sad smile spreading across his face. “Then tell me something, Sir Kyrkon, would Tiko suffer if we let the orb burn?”
Kyrkon shook his head. “Bound spirits are beyond physical pain.”
“Then let him be released,” Qenzic decided. “When Lyramoor finds my father I have a feeling Tiko will be at his side.”
The Thunder People set to work building a funeral pyre right away. Many of the ogres used to be of the Fire People Tribe and knew exactly what to do. The rest of the group split off. Some would stay around for the cremation, but others were ready to return home through the mirror.
Locksher was one of the first ones through, dragging Charz behind him. The rock giant looked uncomfortable hauling the Priestess of War’s chest full of magical items, her mace wrapped in leather and tied to the top. Fist had no idea how Locksher had convinced Charz to do it, but the giant had promised to carry the chest through the mirror and up the stairs of the Rune Tower to the wizard’s rooms.
It was a tight fit. The mirror was only three feet wide and six feet tall. The giant had to crawl through awkwardly, twisting his torso sideways, then pull the heavy chest in after himself. The plan was that Charz would return back through the mirror immediately after delivering the chest, but something strange happened the moment he went inside.
One of the wizards, having just stepped into the back of the boxed wagon to wait his turn to use the mirror, was thrown back out as a plume of mist exploded from the mirror. A noticeable thud rippled through the night air accompanying the sudden occurrence and worried wizards hurried to the wagon.
I’ll go see! Squirrel declared and jumped down from his shoulder.
“Don’t get too close!” Fist warned.
I won’t! Squirrel lied as he darted through the crowd. The little animal ran up the steps and disappeared inside the wagon just as Lenny arrived. The dwarf stopped next to Fist, a mostly empty travel pack over one thick shoulder.
“Aww hell!” Lenny swore. “My way home better not’ve just blowed up! I was hopin’ to see my wife tonight.”
“You are leaving right away, Lenny?” Fist asked, trying to sense what Squirrel was seeing. All he was getting through the bond was the sweet and slightly spicy scent of that mist.
Lenny grunted. “Sure hope so. I think I been gone from the forge long enough. Bet that Jackie Boy of mine’s been missin’ me.”
“I’m sure he is,” Fist said, regretting that he had never had been given the chance to meet the child. He frowned. “If that mirror is broken it’s going to take me a lot longer to get to Justan.”
“Yer headin’ off to Malaroo, then,” Lenny said, looking up at the ogre.
“In the morning,” Fist replied.
Squirrel had climbed up onto a stack of crates to get above the mist. It looked like the frame was undamaged at least. In fact, the overall appearance of the mirror was the same as the last time Fist had seen it, except for the fact that a larger amount of mist than usual was pouring through.
They’re going in, Squirrel reported and Fist watched through his eyes as Darlan stepped into the magic mirror, Sarine right at her heels.
“That reminds me,” said Lenny, interrupting his thoughts. “When you get down to Malaroo I want you to get a message to my nephew fer me.”
Fist blinked and looked back at him. “Your nephew?”
“Yeah. Djeri. You know, the one they call Jerry the Looker. He went into Malaroo with Willum and that Tarah Woodblade girl. Last I heard, they had met up with Edge down there.”
“They did,” Fist confirmed. “But-.”
“Don’t worry. It ain’t a long message or nothin’,” Lenny continued. “Just tell Djeri that I decided to let him keep my old armor. Bettie got me a new set after all and I never wanted to keep the old set anyway. It fits him anyhow. Much more the kinda thing an Academy Defensive Specialist would wear.”
Fist stammered. “I-I would but-.”
Still gone! Squirrel reported. Lots of mist coming out.
Lenny, misunderstanding his hesitance, barked out a laugh. “Shoot-fire, my brain’s getting’ slow! Never mind. I’ll be seein’ Bettie sooner than you’ll be in Malaroo. She’ll send a message to Tolivar through the bond and he’ll pass it on to Willum.”
An excited thought came through the bond from Squirrel. They’re coming back through!
Fist didn’t register what Squirrel was saying. He had just realized that the subject of what had happened to Djeri hadn’t come up. “Lenny, he can’t tell Jerry. Don’t you know what happened?”
A worried look came over Lenny’s face. “I’m thinkin’ you’d better tell me purty blasted quick.”
Aah! Her head’s gone! Squirrel barked.
“What? Who?” Fist said in a panic.
He closed his eyes and focused in on Squirrel’s mind to see the two wizardesses now standing outside of the mirror completely unharmed. They were speaking with Wizard Valtrek who had followed them through.
He breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn’t funny, Squirrel.
You weren’t listening to me, Squirrel chided.
That’s because this is important! Fist replied with a scowl and when he opened his eyes back up he saw Lenny scowling right back at him. “Uh, sorry. Squirrel was . . .”
“Dag-blast it, son! Spit out what yer sayin’!”
“Jerry’s gone,” Fist said, grimacing. “He was swallowed up by the Troll Mother. I-I thought you knew or I would ha-.”
“The troll what?” Lenny snapped, his voice growing even louder. “Listen, boy. I ain’t got no dag-blasted idea what yer talkin’ ’bout! If yer tellin’ me somethin’ happened to my nephew, you damned well better make plain friggin’ sense when you tell me!”
“Sorry,” Fist said. His mouth felt dry. He hadn’t expected to be the bearer of this kind of bad news. How did Lenny not already know this?
Stumbling a bit over his words, Fist explained about the ancient behemoth that lived under the Troll Swamps and the troll creatures it had been birthing. He then told Lenny about the attack at the treaty and what had happened to his nephew. The dwarf didn’t interrupt, just listening until Fist had finished.
“Djeri. Swallowed alive . . .” Lenny said. The anger had left his face, leaving behind a haunted look.
“I-I felt terrible when Justan told me what happened,” Fist added. “I mean, I didn’t know Jerry all that well, but I liked him.”
“Wee . . .” said Rufus, laying a giant hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
The dwarf shook his head, shrugging off the rogue horse’s hand. “But the armor would’ve protected him. When yer wearin’ the whole thing, ain’t nothin’ could hurt you. Hell’s bells, he could still be alive! Knowin’ my nephew, he woulda cut his way out the blasted thing.”
“He wasn’t wearing the helmet,” Fist said sadly and the dwarf lowered his head again. Feeling horribly for him, Fist added, “But he’s not exactly dead. Not according to Tarah Woodblade.”
“And why’s she think that?” Lenny asked.
Fist scratched his head. “Justan says that the people swallowed by the behemoth aren’t killed completely. Somehow it changes them and births them again. But they’re different now. Turned into those troll things.”
“And that’s supposed to be better?” Lenny exclaimed, his eyes wide.
Fist raised his hands defensively, half expecting his friend to throw a punch. “No, it’s not! I . . . I’m really sorry, Lenny. I would have said something to you before, but I thought you already knew since Willum was there when it happened and he’s bonded to Tolivar and-.”
“Just a dag-blamed minute!” Lenny snapped. “How long ago was this?”
“Uh, a few weeks ago,” Fist said. “Just before the Mage School agreed to send the wizards up here with the army.”
“Just before I friggin’ left!” Lenny said in outrage. “Corn-farmin’, dirt-eatin’, hammer-headed-! That dag-blasted woman! My nephew gets turned into some monster and Bettie knew and she didn’t tell me? Why?”
“I . . . don’t know,” Fist said helplessly.
The dwarf clinched his fists and let out a slow breath. “She didn’t want me goin’ down there. That’s why she was so gad-flamed eager to get me on this mission!”
Fist had no reply to that.
“Wee . . .” Rufus said again, his tone mournful.
Lenny stormed away, pushing himself through the people crowded around the wagon. As he left, Maryanne rushed up to them.
“He’s not gonna go in there is he?” the gnome warrior asked.
“I think so,” Fist said as Lenny stomped up the steps and disappeared into the mist that still poured from inside.
What’s he doing, Squirrel? Fist asked worriedly.
He went inside, Squirrel explained. He sent Fist a memory of Lenny brushing past Sarine and Darlan and plunging into the mirror, Wizard Valtrek rushing in after him.
“Hope he gets through okay,” Maryanne said. “Sarine says that something about either the magic in Charz’s amulet or one of the items in that chest he was carrying messed up the path between the two mirrors. Valtrek was able to keep the whole thing from flying apart, but it’s still a bit shaky.”
“What about Charz and Locksher?” Fist asked.
“They were okay,
” she assured him. “Charz was real mad that Valtrek won’t let him go back through though.”
Darlan and Sarine exited the wagon a few moments later. Squirrel was standing on Darlan’s shoulder, shelling a nut. They faced the crowd and a few worried voices shouted out questions.
Darlan raised a calming hand. “Don’t worry! We aren’t quite certain what happened, but we have just spoken with Head Wizard Valtrek and he says he was able to stabilize the pathway between the mirrors.”
“Are you certain?” asked Wizard Spence, one of the High Council, who was eyeing the excessive amount of mist that still poured out of the wagon’s open doorway.
“It is fine for now, dear,” Sarine qualified and another rumble went through the crowd.
Darlan sighed. “What she’s trying to say is that, though the pathway is currently open, Head Wizard Valtrek wants to monitor the mirrors personally any time they are used. Therefore, he is giving any of you that wish to return to the Mage School tonight two hours to do so. After that, he will close the connection until sometime in the morning.”
No sooner had she said so, wizards and warriors alike began to push towards the opening. Mistress Sarine had to step in and make sure that people lined up and began to pass through in a slow and orderly fashion. Too many people at once could cause the way to become unstable again.
Fist frowned. “Two hours doesn’t give us much time.”
“So we’re heading through tonight?” Maryanne asked eagerly, a smile on her face.
Fist nodded. “I’d like to. I was really hoping to sleep in my bed one last night before heading to Malaroo.”
He turned and looked over at the ogres putting the finishing touches on Lyramoor’s funeral pyre. He was going to have to go talk to Crag and let the Thunder People know he was leaving. Fist had been putting off that particular confrontation all evening.
He dreaded the inevitable awkward conversation where Crag begged him to stay. He was also fairly certain that Crag hadn’t forgotten about the tribe member Fist had promised to give him after the war was over. For a while he had hoped that the fact Charz wanted to stay behind would satisfy the chieftain, but it didn’t look like that was happening anymore. With a heavy sigh, he started towards them.
Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6) Page 5
