The Brotherhood of Dwarves: Book 04 - Between Dark and Light
Page 1
Table of Contents
Map
Title
Title Information
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About The Author
Lands of the Brotherhood of Dwarves
Also Available in the Brotherhood of Dwarves Series:
Book One: The Brotherhood of Dwarves
Book Two: Red Sky at Dawn
Book Three: The Fall of Dorkhun
Book Four of
the Brotherhood of Dwarves Series
Between Dark and Light
D.A. Adams
Title Information
Copyright © 2012 by D.A. Adams
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher or author.
Cover Art: Bonnie Wasson
Copyright © 2012 Bonnie Wasson and Seventh Star Press, LLC.
Editor: Philip Hopkins
Published by Seventh Star Press, LLC.
ISBN Number 978-1-937929-77-0
Seventh Star Press
www.seventhstarpress.com
info@seventhstarpress.com
Publisher’s Note:
Between Dark and Light is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are the product of the author’s imagination, used in fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, places, locales, events, etc. are purely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
Dedication
For Aunt Carolyn, my biggest fan…
…And for Collin and Finn, my greatest gift.
Chapter 1
Confessions and Revelations
The wind shifted from the north, carrying the stench of fear, and Crushaw smiled. He sniffed the air, breathing in the ogres’ dread as they trembled behind ramshackle fortifications. For as long as he could remember, he had waged war on them, killing more than he could count and driving them farther north with each year. His name a curse on their lips, his silhouette a vision of terror. Today, he would smash their lines and extinguish their last glimmer of hope.
Ominous clouds formed along the southern horizon, tall and billowy and dark. He studied them while waiting for his runner to return with news about his latest peace offer. The ogres would reject it, of course, for the offer was little more than an insult. Unknown to them, however, his archers were moving into position on the ogres’ weakened eastern flank. He turned to his captain and pointed at the clouds.
“Nasty,” Captain Strauteefe said, seeing the menacing thunderheads mushroom. “Should we halt the attack?”
“No. A little rain’ll wash off their blood.”
Strauteefe laughed but continued staring at the gathering storm. Crushaw turned his gaze north, searching for his runner. The captain was his favorite officer, the one being groomed as his replacement, but sometimes, Strauteefe’s cautiousness worried the general. The ogres were all but shattered, and any delay would afford them an opportunity to regroup. All his experience told him, storm or not, they would strike as soon as the archers moved into position. If the runner were lucky, he would be back by then.
***
Crushaw bolted upright, sweat pouring from his body. Whenever the nightmare started, he forced himself awake, and now, he peered out the window, trying to shake off lingering memories. From the other room, Vishghu’s snoring was loud and steady, a deep slumber from yesterday’s labor. The heat of summer had taken its toll on them, but he couldn’t sleep for fear of the recurring dream, so he rose from bed and went outside.
The grass lay damp with dew, and dawn was still hours away, so he walked to the barn and found the driest section of a bench that ran along the outer wall. Sitting, he looked west and wondered if Roskin was okay. Kwarck had said little since the earthquake a week before, save the occasional reassurances of the dwarf’s safety. But Crushaw wished he could see for himself that his friend was uninjured, for in his heart, he knew Kwarck was hiding something.
As he mulled the thought, the wizard emerged from the house and came towards him. Crushaw waved in the faint light, but Kwarck didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he strode straight to the bench and sat at the far end. The wood creaked from the additional weight, and Crushaw readjusted himself to get comfortable. Kwarck’s eyes remained fixed on the ground, so Crushaw stretched out his legs and folded his hands in his lap. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, the general spoke:
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
Kwarck shook his head.
“At least Vishghu’ll be rested.”
“You’ve been honest with me, haven’t you?”
“About?” Crushaw asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Your past? Your secrets?”
“I’m sure some things I haven’t shared.”
“Yes, but you’ve been a better friend than I.”
Puzzled, Crushaw faced his companion.
“I’ve kept a secret for too long.”
Crushaw remained quiet, waiting for Kwarck to continue.
“Before I lived here, I served the Great Empire as a healer in the capital.”
“You served Vassa?”
“No, her father and grandfather.”
Crushaw calculated, furrowing his brow. “That would make you well over a hundred.”
“Like I told you before, I’m much older than that,” Kwarck answered, still not looking up. “It’s the elf in me.”
“I knew many elves on the plantation. None were much older than humans and dwarves.”
“The labor broke their bodies young. No living creature can endure endless toil for long. Had you not escaped, you too would be gone by now.”
Crushaw remembered how the old slaves looked--their backs bent, hands gnarled, and joints swollen, yet none were much above fifty. Their eyes had no glimmer of life, just a dimness that gazed far into the distance, and he rarely dwelled on such memories, for they brought too much grief.
“That’s not the secret, though,” Kwarck added.
Crushaw was silent.
“I knew your parents.”
“What?” the old general asked, suddenly erect, gripping his knees.
Kwarck explained that Crushaw’s father had been a member of the Royal Guard and his mother the emperor’s niece. They had fallen in love and dated secretly until she became pregnant. However, the emperor didn’t approve of them marrying because, while Crushaw’s father was an exemplary soldier, he was still a commoner. The war with the elves had just begun, and the young man had been sent to the front, where he died in the Loorish Forest during a vicious battle. The emperor had ordered Kwarck to destroy the baby as soon as it was born.
“I couldn’t obey that order. I’m a healer, not a murderer.”
Crushaw struggled to comprehend the tale.
“I gave you to my two most trusted servants, half-elves like me, and sent you to live in the Koorleine Forest. But somewhere along the road, they were captured by slave traders.”
“How do you know I’m that child?”
“I knew the instant I saw you. You look just like your father.”
Crushaw clenched his teeth, a sharp
pain burning his stomach.
“You were supposed to have a much different life, and all of your torments are my fault.”
“What about my mother?”
“She died from grief a few days after you were taken from her arms.”
Crushaw rose and walked to the nearest field. Many times he had imagined who his mother was. Now, here was Kwarck, one of the only people Crushaw had ever trusted, saying he had known her. A maelstrom of emotions, all foreign, swept through him. For a moment, Crushaw thought he was still dreaming, but the dew moistening his pant legs told him this was no dream. He returned to the bench and stood before the wizard.
“How did you survive?”
“I left the capital the night you were born and headed west. Tolerance for half-elves was growing thin already, and if the emperor found out I didn’t kill you, I would’ve been executed. That’s how I came to this land and built this farm.”
“I still don’t understand why you are telling me this. Why now?”
Kwarck shrugged, his eyes distant and moist.
“Do you have any idea what that plantation was like?”
“Yes, I’ve felt much anguish from my kin who’ve lived and died in bondage.”
“You’ve felt anguish!” Crushaw shouted, clutching Kwarck’s tunic. “You have no idea!”
Kwarck went limp in his grasp, and his eyes dimmed with sorrow and shame. Crushaw released his hold and turned for the house. Rage overtook him, and he wanted his sword. But soon, he caught himself and inhaled deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs. He strode back towards the field, fighting his emotions. Kwarck was the most decent, compassionate person he knew and had given him the only happiness he had ever experienced. He shouldn’t be angry at his friend. After a few minutes of pacing and breathing, he calmed down and returned to where Kwarck sat, his countenance frail and diminished.
“Forgive me,” Crushaw said. “I didn’t mean to grab you.”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“No, I don’t. You saved my life. Twice it seems.”
Kwarck looked up, his eyes pooled with tears on the cusp of streaming down his cheeks.
“Please, forgive me,” Kwarck whispered.
“The only thing to forgive is that it took this long to tell me,” Crushaw said, extending his hand.
Kwarck rose and accepted the gesture of friendship. They stood still in the pale moonlight of early morning, and Crushaw held Kwarck’s smaller hand even after the wizard tried to withdraw. There were so many questions, so much he wanted to learn, but the words all piled together as mush. He shook Kwarck’s hand for several heartbeats.
“There’s something else,” Kwarck said, barely audible.
Crushaw released his grasp and settled on the bench, leaning against the barn.
“Actually, two things.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for more.”
“It’s important.”
Crushaw waited.
“The Great Empire is preparing to attack the Kiredurks on two fronts.”
“How do you know this?”
“That’s not important. Just know it’s true.”
“We have to warn Roskin.”
“He already knows. As we speak, he’s moving south towards the Ghaldeons to rouse an army.”
“I have to help him,” Crushaw said fidgeting in his seat.
“Yes, you must. But you must help to the east.”
Crushaw knitted his eyebrows, uncertain what the wizard meant.
“For many years, the elves have hidden in the Koorleine forest, rebuilding their strength and waiting for the moment to strike. That time is near.”
“You know I’m too old for battle.”
“No, you’re not. Most of these elves have never seen war, save the ones who already fought with you. They need a general.”
Crushaw pressed against the barn, the wood creaking with his weight. After the Battle for Hard Hope, he had accepted that age had caught up with him. When the young orc caught him off guard by the stream, he had also accepted that his fighting days were over. His senses had grown too dull to survive long on a battlefield. Riding against the soldiers of the Great Empire with a mob of unseasoned elves was suicide.
“Trust me,” Kwarck said, interrupting his thoughts. “You can outwit their generals. You trained most of them.”
“How soon?”
“Their army is gathering in Rugraknere. I figure in the spring, they will attack the ogres’ western flank and then turn on the Kiredurks by summer.”
“You are full of surprises,” Crushaw said, leaning forward. “That’s not enough time to train them.”
“Look what you did with a few hundred slaves.”
“That? That was against undisciplined orcs who had never been tested. This? No, this is the most well-trained army in the world. Most of those soldiers have been at war for as long as they’ve been shaving. They won’t break ranks at the first sign of danger.”
“So what are you saying?”
Crushaw gazed at the horizon, the line of earth and sky visible only as faint hues of black. There wasn’t much choice. He could hide on this farm, waiting for frailty and weakness to take him, or he could die with his sword in his hand and the taste of blood on his lips. He turned to Kwarck:
“Get them here. The sooner the better.” His voice left no room for argument.
Kwarck smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “They’re already on their way,” he said.
“Vishghu needs to warn her people,” Crushaw added.
“Agreed. One last thing.”
Crushaw groaned.
“We have visitors coming. Two elves and an orc, seeking sanctuary. I need to know you will welcome them. All of them.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“There will be no bloodshed on my land.” Now, Kwarck’s voice gave no room for debate.
Crushaw nodded slightly. He had already befriended an ogre, an occurrence he once believed laughable, so keeping the peace with an orc might not be impossible. Kwarck excused himself to begin breakfast and headed for the house. Crushaw watched him walk away, but his thoughts drifted to his parents. He imagined them, young and in love, sneaking around the palace to steal quiet moments together. He wondered if his father would’ve been proud of his rise from foot soldier to First General of Black Rock Fortress, leader of the Northern Army. He smiled at the thought of his father, dressed in full regalia, watching him receive the post. And he wondered what his mother would think now, him agreeing to lead an elfin army against Vassa’s forces. He could see her face, the one he had always envisioned, twisted with worry and mixed feelings. He wiped a tear from his eye and tamped down his emotions. There was no time for such foolishness, not with so many plans to make.
***
Stahloor, Alysea, and Suvene broke camp before dawn. They still had several miles of marching to reach Kwarck’s farm and wanted to cover it before the heat became unbearable. They had pushed themselves hard over the mountains and across the plains, avoiding all settlements and every road. The untamed path had been taxing, and though game was plentiful, their pace had left little time for their sore muscles to recover. All were ready for a comfortable seat and a soft bed.
Nearing the farm, Suvene had grown uneasy. Despite Stahloor’s reassurances, the reality of having abandoned his homeland burdened him. There was no certainty this hermit would accept him, and there was also the probability he would be tracked. Orcs were not known for forgiveness, and the masters would be enraged over what he had done to the guards. At some point, they would find him, and then, he would have to face the consequences of his desertion. That final thought haunted him most, for he had always defined himself as loyal and obedient, yet here he was, a fugitive.
Alysea did her best to keep his spirits lifted, telling stories of her time on the mountain and sharing elven history. Suvene knew nothing of their past. To him, the wood-brains were uncivilized barbarians, hardly more than wild animals gatherin
g berries for sustenance while his people cultivated fields. He marveled at her tales of elfish craftsmanship passed down for centuries and wondered at their validity. He didn’t doubt her belief. Her innocence and sincerity were pure, but given his understanding of elves, the stories seemed preposterous.
Stahloor had barely spoken on the trip, other than when directly asked a question. He hadn’t been rude. On the contrary, since that night in the tree, he had treated the orc with respect bordering on admiration, but the elf carried a sadness that weighed his words like an anchor. From all he had seen in the last year, Suvene understood the desire for silence. His memories from the Slithsythe Plantation, pools of blood and dismembered bodies, were thoughts he never wanted to discuss. Watching Toulesche, his closest childhood friend, die a slow, painful death was a vision he wished he could erase. While he had told Stahloor he no longer sought revenge against Crushaw, in his heart, Suvene still hated the old man.
They trekked across the open fields, the sun peeking over the horizon. All around, fields awakened from night as wildflowers opened to catch the early rays and insects emerged from their nests, seeking nourishment. A calm breeze rippled the tall grasses, and hares poked their heads from holes to sniff for predators. With its sparse trees and long rolling expanses, the prairie was much different from the savannah, and while he missed home, Suvene found comfort in the broad sky and rolling terrain. There was a familiar feeling about the landscape, as if something deep within him had traveled this land before.
By noon, their bodies were drenched with sweat, but as they crested a small rise, the edge of the outermost field came into view. The rows of corn stood tall and majestic, swaying in the breeze, and all of Suvene’s worries melted away at the sight. Calmness and serenity took their place, and he looked at Alysea and smiled.
“So this is Kwarck’s land,” Stahloor said, stopping and uncorking his waterskin. “Ever since I escaped bondage, I’ve hoped to see this place.”
“That field is beautiful,” Suvene said. “I can’t explain it, but the fields on the plantation don’t compare.”
“Yes,” Stahloor said. “I feel it, too. There’s something special about this land.”