The Elder Stones Saga Boxset: Books 1-3

by D. K. Holmberg

  After traveling for a while, barely managing to keep from scratching himself with branches, he paused, leaning on one of the nearby trees. His breathing was ragged, and the effort of pushing like this more difficult than he would have expected. It took just as much energy as running, especially as he tried to navigate between the trees, twisting and contorting his body in a way that allowed him to stay unharmed.

  Movement caught his attention, and he spun. A dart whistled past, striking the tree where he’d been resting, and Haern swore under his breath, pushing off once more and moving.

  Galen was somewhere near.

  The other man had promised to challenge him, and so far, he had managed to do so with some modicum of success. Not only had Haern been forced to gather a better connection to lorcith—something that had prompted his return to the mines over the last few weeks to ensure he continued to understand that connection—but he had required Haern to practice with much more intensity than before.

  He checked his pouch while moving to ensure he had the necessary supplies on him.

  There was another lesson Galen had taught him. Always be aware of what supplies you have on hand. It was far too easy to lose supplies with an unfortunate stumble, and then he would end up not only at risk of injury but lacking the gear he might need.

  He needed to become less reliant on his connection to lorcith, but he also needed to use his connection to the metal in a way that would allow him to move.

  The lorcith in the coins he used now was far less than what he had used before. It was less than a quarter of the total composition of the coin, a small hint of an alloy, and despite that, Haern still managed to employ it the same as he had before. Part of that came from his training, but part of it came from time spent around the metal. Eventually he hoped to get to the point where he wouldn’t need much lorcith. Anything that made it so the Forgers couldn’t track him easily was valuable to him.

  No other movement came, and he slowed. The edge of the Aisl forest was near. The humming sensation from the lorcith rods called to him, the metal imbued with a certain magic energy that created a barrier. Attuned to the lorcith as he was, he could feel it more rapidly than he had before.

  A flicker of movement caught his attention.

  Haern pushed off, barely avoiding another dart that streaked his way.

  If one of them hit him, not only would it hurt, but whatever toxin Galen had added to the dart would likely incapacitate him for an extended period of time. It was unlikely Galen used anything that would do more than that. He didn’t think Galen had any intention of forcing him to try to overcome a poison, but he couldn’t be entirely certain. It was possible that Galen would use something that would require him to somehow survive. It was the way that the other man had learned, though he claimed he wouldn’t try the same technique on Haern.

  Another dart whistled toward him.

  Rather than pushing off, Haern sent a knife streaking toward the dart, trying to catch it in the air. He managed to collide with the dart, but as he spun, Galen was there, a dart jabbed into his belly.

  Haern’s breathing quickened, and he found his body didn’t move.

  “What was your mistake?”

  He swallowed, trying to open his mouth, but it didn’t work.

  “Right. You won’t be able to say anything at this point. Let it work through you. Don’t fight it. It won’t linger all that long, and you should be thankful I didn’t choose to use anything more painful.” Galen withdrew the dart, taking a step back and twisting something within his pouch. Likely reloading the dart, preparing for the next time he would catch Haern. It wasn’t the first time he’d managed to do so, and it wasn’t going to be the last. “As you can’t talk, let me tell you what you did wrong. You thought to counter.”

  Haern’s mouth could move, and he licked his lips. Whatever poison Galen had used was already beginning to wear off. “I. Didn’t try. To counter.”

  “No?” Galen took a few steps away, crouching down and plucking the lorcith knife off the forest floor. “What’s this, then?”

  Haern pulled on the knife, drawing it back toward him. Poisoned as he was, his body might not respond the way it should, but his connection to the metal remained. There were certain toxins that could incapacitate that, but so far Galen had not chosen to use them. He was thankful for that, though he suspected he needed to learn to fight without his connection to his abilities. If they failed him, what would he do?

  Which was the exact point Galen was trying to make with him. He wanted Haern to be prepared for the possibility that his enhanced Sight and his connection to lorcith might one day fail. If they did, he still had to be prepared for fighting. If he could avoid poisoning, he could stay safe.

  “Good. At least you didn’t give up on fighting entirely.”

  “Should I attack you?”

  “If you think you can.”

  Haern sent the knife streaking toward Galen, and the other man twisted out of the way, easily avoiding it. Despite his age, Galen still had an agility that Haern marveled at. He had been rusty when they had first begun training, but the longer Haern trained, the better Galen’s skills became. It was as if both of them benefited.

  Then again, Galen’s skills were more a reassertion of existing abilities, whereas Haern needed to develop them in the first place. Learning was slow, and he didn’t know all the ways he could use his abilities. Without his father to learn from, he might never know the full capacity of someone with a connection to lorcith. It was more than the ability to forge metal, to hear it singing, and to send it streaking away from him. There had to be more to it.

  “You continue to rely on lorcith, though you’ve grown stronger with it. I’ll give you that. It’s something your father depended on far too much as well. One of the advantages I had in my exile was that I learned I couldn’t rely upon my abilities all the time. Perhaps you should be exiled in order to understand the same thing.”

  “Do you think I need to be exiled in order to recognize that?”

  “If you fail to consider alternatives, I do.”

  “My connection to lorcith makes me stronger.”

  “Your connection to lorcith makes you dependent upon the metal. I thought you might be easier to work with, as having only Sight isn’t always an asset. I would have thought you would be easier to educate, but…”

  The poisoning had nearly worn off, and Haern took a step back. His legs were shaky and weak, but even that was beginning to fade. In time, the weakness would dissipate completely, allowing him to stand. Even if he couldn’t, his connection to lorcith was such that he thought that he could push himself through the forest and return home.

  “Do you still think to hunt the Forgers?” Galen asked.

  “I told you that I would talk with you before I did anything.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  “It’s not.” Haern checked his knives, slipping them back into the sheaths. Whereas the coins might contain a smaller percentage of lorcith, the knives were made entirely of it. It was something he would have to remedy eventually, but he had been focused so much on training that he hadn’t taken the time. If he was going to hunt Forgers, having lorcith blades put him at a disadvantage. He needed something they couldn’t stop, and whether that was some alloy he might make or something else he could do, he had yet to determine.

  If only he had his father’s ability with other metals.

  “There you go again.”

  “There I go doing what?”

  “Looking at your knives as if you wish to seduce them. They’re tools. The sooner you understand that, the more likely you will be able to use them in the manner they were meant to be used.”

  “Like you with your darts?”

  “Exactly like that. I understand the darts are tools, much as I understand that without them, I am not helpless.”

  “You’re still diminished.”

  “Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I’m unable to defend myself.” Galen looke
d around the forest, and he nodded. Two men who Haern hadn’t seen hiding through the trees suddenly appeared.

  How had these men hidden?

  Both carried long swords, reminding him of the men who patrolled the water’s edge.

  Sellswords.

  They unsheathed their blades.

  “Galen?”

  “I warned you that I would push you. It’s time to remove your crutch.”

  “Remove my what?”

  Galen flicked a dart at Haern, and it stuck into his shoulder. He winced and blinked as everything began to dim.

  His Sight faded.

  He attempted to connect to lorcith, but even that ability was absent.

  Galen took a few steps back and nodded toward a nearby tree. Haern jerked his head around quickly and realized a sword rested alongside the tree.

  “It’s time I push you a little harder. My friends here will offer you a different type of instruction than what I might be able to provide.”

  The two sellswords approached, and Haern jumped back, thankful that his agility and strength were still there. He reached the base of the tree, grabbing the sword—simple steel, he realized, probably why he hadn’t noticed it before—before bringing the blade around. The two men stood far enough apart that neither would interfere with the other’s movements. They appeared comfortable, practiced in the way they approached, and unconcerned that he had a sword of his own.

  Maybe this was nothing more than another attempt at practice. He glanced at the blades, wishing for his normal Sight, and hating that he couldn’t tell with any certainty whether the blades were dull or sharp.

  One of the blades whistled toward him, and he managed to swing his sword around barely in time, blocking.

  Definitely sharp.

  What was Galen thinking having him battle two sellswords? What could he learn from doing so?

  He spun the blade around, trying to force them to keep distant. He needed to buy enough time for whatever poison Galen had used on him to wear off, though he didn’t know how long that would take. If it was a long-lasting poison, he would have to deal with this without his abilities.

  One of the sellswords continue to press, and Haern tried to spin away but wasn’t fast enough. The sword crashed down toward him, and he resisted, pushing away, but he didn’t do so in time. As the sword swung closer and closer, he braced for an impact that never came.

  The sellsword stood over him, sword angled down and ready to strike, but he didn’t complete the movement.

  Haern swallowed, and Galen stepped between them. “Meet your new swordmasters.”

  “What?” he asked, looking from one man to the other.

  “This is Timothy Narl,” Galen said, motioning to the man holding the sword just over Haern. “And this is Charen Ohls. As you probably have surmised, they are both Neelish sellswords. I will leave you to their tutelage.”

  Galen turned, and Haern wanted to go after him, but the other man continued onward, leaving him stranded alone with these two sellswords, feeling as if he were trapped. And he was trapped. He knew nothing about these men other than that they were here at the urging of Galen.

  “Get up,” Timothy said.

  Haern crawled to his feet quickly, still holding on to the sword. The other man, Charen, stood off to the side, having sheathed his sword at some point. When had he done that? As far as Haern knew, both men had had their swords unsheathed before.

  “Have you ever fought with a sword before?” Timothy asked.

  Haern shook his head. “Not much.”

  The sellsword glared at him. “Not much?”

  He swung the sword, sweeping it toward Haern, and he brought his sword up to block. The effect of the attack was jarring, sending his arms quivering. He barely managed to hold out as the sellsword struck, and he was thankful he hadn’t been injured any more than he already had.

  “Your posture is terrible.”

  “My posture?”

  Timothy accentuated the comment by slamming his sword into Haern again. Each strike left him shaking.

  “You must grip the sword so that you won’t lose it. Hold it as if you mean it.”

  “How so?”

  The other man swung again, connecting with Haern’s sword. “Like this.”

  He twisted his hands, bringing them around so that Haern could see how he held it. He shifted his grip, and Timothy attacked again, striking at him with the sword with a sharp, jarring motion.

  Haern nearly dropped the sword, but he had the sense that if he did, Timothy’s wrath would be much greater. He didn’t dare let the sword fall, much like he didn’t dare lower his guard around a man like this. Rather, he needed to be cautious, assertive, and he needed to ensure he didn’t anger them in any way.

  “If you have no experience with the sword, you must learn to defend.”

  He swung the sword around, and Haern braced for another attack, but it didn’t come. Instead, he brought the sword around, and Charen unsheathed quickly, blocking the blow. The two of them twisted, stepping from place to place in what almost appeared to be a dance. As he watched, the only thing Haern could think of was that his father had never needed to learn to fight like that. Why should he?

  But then, if he didn’t, it was likely he would end up in a situation where he wasn’t prepared. Galen had proven how easy it was to incapacitate him, and when it came to facing and defeating Forgers, he needed every bit of opportunity he had. If he failed at this, then his father would be lost.

  The men continued their movements, and Haern found himself following Charen as he blocked, knowing that if nothing else, that was the movement he needed to master. There was no obvious skill to it. It seemed as if Charen knew where to bring his sword, sweeping around and blocking blow after blow as if the other man were alerting him of what he was going to do with each attack.

  How was he supposed to anticipate a fighting style like that?

  Maybe it wouldn’t be important. At this point, all that mattered was that he had to come up with some method of blocking an attack.

  All of a sudden, Timothy spun toward Haern, and he raised his sword, preparing for the inevitable crashing of the blade. When it came, Haern struggled to maintain his grip on the sword. As long as he could hold it, he could withstand the force of the attack.

  Timothy continued to swing at him, sweeping his blade in one attack after another, each of them as brutal and rapid as the blows he had struck Charen.

  As he defended, blocking each blow, Haern realized that wasn’t entirely true. The blows were similar, but they weren’t nearly as rapid as what Timothy had directed at Charen. There was more of a fluidity to that attack. This was slower, for his benefit. He was giving Haern an opportunity to defend, but it didn’t even matter. He wasn’t quick enough to block the other man.

  Timothy’s sword slipped through, catching Haern on the arm.

  Any question about whether the sword would be sharp enough to harm him disappeared.

  Pain shot through his arm, leaving everything quivering with it. It took everything within him to maintain his grip on the sword. He came close to dropping it, and he had no doubt that Timothy would continue to press his attack if he did. The only thing for him to do was fight, and resist.

  He managed to reestablish his grip, and he brought his sword around, blocking the next attack, and then the next. Each one required the same concentration, and each one was nearly more than he could handle.

  Suddenly, Timothy took a step back, away from him.

  “You are like a child.”

  “I told you that I haven’t spent much time fighting.”

  “Even the children in my land are more capable with the sword then you. I don’t know whether to be angry or to pity you.”

  “You don’t need to pity me.”

  “Then I should be angry. That is fair enough.”

  “You don’t need to be angry, either.”

  “Then what will you do to prove that you are deserving of something m
ore than my scorn?”

  “I thought you were here to teach me.”

  “I’m here to ensure that you learn how to fight with the sword. I am not certain whether I can succeed.”

  He nodded at Charen, and the two men turned away.

  “That’s it? You’re just leaving now?”

  “Would you have us do more?” Timothy asked.

  “If I’m as terrible as you say, then I need you to do more with me.”

  “There’s no doubt that you need to do more, but the question is whether you can do more.”

  “You won’t work with me?”

  For some reason, that bothered him. It shouldn’t. He didn’t necessarily care if they worked with him. All he cared about was continuing to train, but if they refused to teach him, how would he be able to improve? This was what Galen wanted for him. He wanted to ensure he obtained the necessary skills so he could fight, resist, and learn to handle the Forgers in another way. If they weren’t willing to work with him, what other options did he have?

  Then again, did Galen know how to fight with the sword?

  As far as he knew, Galen didn’t have any experience with sword fighting. He was an assassin who used poisons and darts, nothing more than that. Why should he have to learn something that Galen didn’t find necessary to know himself?

  “Go. I’ll find another way to learn.”

  The two men glanced at each other before disappearing. It happened quickly, almost as if they were Sliding; they faded, slipping away before he could react. Haern watched them for a moment before racing after them, but they were gone, disappeared somewhere beyond where he could find them.

  He tested his connection to lorcith but found it was still missing. Whatever poison Galen had used on him persisted. He would need to walk through the forest to get back.

  It took the better part of a day to reach the heart of the Aisl forest. He encountered nothing and no one during the journey, certainly nothing that would tell him where the Neelish sellswords had disappeared. With them gone, he had thought he might come across Galen, but even he was absent. By the time he reached the heart of the Aisl, he was frustrated and angry.