“One remains, K’let. Your pet human.”
K’let turned, frowning. He looked Raven up and down. His frown increased when he saw Dur-zor. She started to sink to the ground, but Raven held her up.
“I need you to translate,” he said.
“What do you want, R’vn?” K’let snarled.
“A chance to speak to you, great Kyl-sarnz,” said Raven.
“I am not in the mood to talk to xkes now,” K’let said. “I let you live out of a whim.”
“I am here to see that you don’t regret that whim, great Kyl-sarnz,” said Raven. “I have a proposition.” He thrust Dur-zor forward into the light. “Look at this. Look at what the taan have done to her.”
K’let shrugged. “She is an abomination. They may bash in her skull, for all I care.”
“Yet were you not once considered an abomination, mighty K’let?” Raven said boldly, to make up for the fact that his heart thudded in his chest. He was taking a terrible risk.
Dur-zor stared at him, afraid to repeat his words. There was no need. Having been around Dagnarus for over two hundred years, K’let understood well enough.
His eyes narrowed.
“Say what you have to say, R’vn, before I slay you.”
“Only this, great K’let. That once you were considered worthless by your people and yet the tales of your triumphs in battle, the stories of your bravery and courage are legend. I say that these you call abominations, these half-taan, are being wasted. The taan use them as slaves, to haul drinking water and wipe the backsides of children, when they might be taught to wield spears in your army. The taan kill them for sport, when they might be dying for your cause in battle. Look at her. Look at the beating she has taken. Yet she stands before you, brave and uncomplaining. You have seen her skill in battle, and she is self-taught. What might she do with training?
“I propose to you that I take the half-taan and form them into a tribe of their own. I will train them to be warriors to fight for you.”
Derl said something in a soft voice. K’let listened and gave a brief nod. He did not take his red eyes off Raven.
“Why would you, a human, agree to fight other humans? For that is what it will come to, you know,” said K’let.
Raven paused, trying to understand his own feelings, trying to explain himself to himself as much as to K’let.
“Like the taan, my people are warriors. Like the taan, we believe that those who die in battle are blessed in the afterlife, given a chance to fight heaven’s battles. I heard your stories of the taan who were massacred. I would not want to die like that, trapped inside the walls of a city. I would not want to die at the hands of wizards—cowards who hide behind their magic and dare not fight a man face-to-face. Because I understand, I want to avenge the deaths of those taan.”
As Dur-zor translated this, her own voice grew stronger. She caught some of Raven’s fire.
“The taan use the half-taan as slaves, as you say. They will not be pleased to lose them,” said K’let.
“It seems to me that you have given the taan much more important things to think about now, great K’let, than the loss of a few slaves who are easily replaced,” said Raven.
Derl gave a cough that might have been a chuckle. The shaman muttered something. K’let muttered back, their words soft and indistinct.
“I will be forced to pay the taan for the loss of their slaves,” K’let grumbled.
“If I can turn your slaves into a fighting force, then your wealth will be well spent,” Raven answered.
A glint shone in K’let’s eye. “How do I know I can trust you? I would not want it to be said later that I raised up the young bahk who then bit off my head.”
“I pledge my honor to you, Kyl-sarnz. Your fight is my fight.”
“One other human made that vow to me once,” K’let said softly. “And he betrayed me.”
“I will not betray you, Kyl-sarnz,” said Raven proudly. “You have my word.”
K’let grunted, unimpressed. He eyed Raven craftily. “Correct me if I’m wrong, R’vn, but at the moment your life is worth less than a cracked stewpot. Oh, yes, I know all about Dag-ruk and R’lt. I am kept well informed.”
“That is true, Kyl-sarnz,” Raven said, seeing no reason to deny it.
“Then I will make you the same bargain Dagnarus made with me. I will give you what you ask for. I will make you nizam of your own tribe of half-taan. You will be under my protection. No taan will harm you or yours in peril of my wrath. In exchange, when I demand your life, you will give it to me.”
Raven thought this over. Dur-zor murmured a protest, but he silenced her.
“I agree, Kyl-sarnz.”
“It will be done, then,” said K’let. “I plan to speak to all our people before we start. I will make the announcement then. When we set up camp this night, you will make your own camp, and the half-taan will join you.” He made a dismissive gesture.
Raven saluted and departed. Once outside the tent, he drew in a gulp of fresh air, a gulp that rid his lungs of the fetid stench of the Void. He looked in triumph at Dur-zor, expecting to see her happiness reflect his own. Instead, she was worried and thoughtful.
“What is wrong now?” he demanded, irritated. “You have what you always wanted—freedom for you and your people.”
“I know,” she said, smiling as best she could with her split lip. “And I am very proud of you, Raven. Still”—she sighed—“it will not be easy. There are some who find comfort in being a slave.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said shortly. “You didn’t.”
Dur-zor could not explain herself, and so she dropped the subject. She moved close to him, snuggled near him. “I do not like it that you were forced to sell your life to K’let.”
“Bah!” Raven shrugged. “I got the best of the deal. As K’let said, my life is worth nothing now, so I have nothing to lose. I intend to make myself so valuable to K’let that he won’t want to collect on his debt. Besides, I’ll probably cheat him and die in battle anyway.”
“I hope so, Raven,” said Dur-zor earnestly.
He pretended to frown at her. “That’s a fine thing for a mate to say.”
“Oh, not that I hope you die!” she cried, aghast. “It’s just—”
“I know,” he said, laughing and hugging her. He felt good with the world. “I was teasing. One of the first things I’m going to teach the half-taan is how to laugh.”
“The first thing you are going to have to teach them, Raven, is how to live,” said Dur-zor solemnly. “Right now, all they know is how to die.”
THE DRAGON FLIGHT TO THE CITY OF SAUMEL HAD A STRANGE, dreamlike quality to it for both dwarf passengers and the dragon who carried them. The dwarves, wrapped in warm sheepskin coats given to them by the Omarah, sat huddled together for warmth on the dragon’s broad back, holding fast to a leather harness that Kolost had fashioned from the harness of his horse and attached firmly to the dragon’s spiky mane.
Neither dwarf nor dragon spoke during the time they were airborne. As they soared over the land, the only sounds that could be heard were those made by the dragon—the creaking of tendons and the slow swish of her wings—and even these were stilled when Ranessa drifted upon the air currents. The dwarves marveled at the sights—towering trees sliding smoothly beneath, the dragon’s shadow gliding across the ground below, the bright flash of sunlight reflecting off the smooth surface of a small lake.
Each dwarf was absorbed in his own thoughts. Kolost’s were of conquest. He looked at the land of Vinnengael below and saw it teeming with dwarves. His ambitions were as broad as the horizon, and he was not daunted by the vastness of the world viewed beyond the tip of the dragon’s wing. In his mind, Kolost galloped over his enemies, his dwarven troops riding to victory behind him.
Wolfram’s thoughts were not as pleasant. He saw little of the land below, took no notice of the sky above. His gaze turned inward, to the reason he wasn’t a Dominion Lord. And no one c
ould convince him to go back to being a Dominion Lord. Not even Kolost, no matter how often he spoke of it. As on this night.
After they landed, the dragon left them to go seek food and shelter. Bad enough, Ranessa told Wolfram, that she had to bear their company during the day. She needed to be alone at night, and so she often went off on her own, seeking out some cave or hollow or grotto where she could rest by herself.
Kolost had a way of ferreting out a man’s deepest thoughts. He was that rare object—a good listener. He took an interest in all he heard. He did so for a reason. Not only did he learn by it, but, snared by his interest in them, people were inclined to share a bit too much of themselves.
Kolost, like any good hunter, spotted his prey from a distance, circled in on it, then pounced.
“Tell me of this Dunner,” said Kolost. “I know about the Children of Dunner, those children of the Unhorsed who are self-appointed guardians of the Sovereign Stone. But who is Dunner?”
Wolfram did not want to talk about Dunner or anything to do with the Sovereign Stone. But Wolfram was hoping to learn more from Kolost about the clan chief’s plans, and in order to get, Wolfram had to give. Tit for tat as the saying goes among combatants, a blow for a blow.
“Dunner was the first dwarf ever to become a Dominion Lord,” Wolfram replied. “He was an Unhorsed. He lived in Old Vinnengael, spent most of his time in the Royal Library.”
Wolfram had to make a detour in order to explain to Kolost the concept of a library. Dwarves have about as much use for books as orks do.
Once libraries were established to his satisfaction, Kolost asked, “What did Dunner do in the library?”
“He read the books,” said Wolfram.
Kolost pondered this. “You say he was Unhorsed. Was he one of the mad ones?”
“Dunner wasn’t mad,” Wolfram replied, defensive of his hero. “He was like you—interested in people. He learned a lot about people through book reading. All sorts of people: humans and elves and orks. He later put his lessons to good use.”
Kolost seemed struck by this. He pondered in silence for several moments, then said, “These books…What did they tell him?”
Wolfram gestured with a rabbit bone. “Oh, lots of things: books about warfare, about strategy and tactics; books about plants, which ones are poisonous and which ones can be used to heal; books about the history. Because he read so much and gained more knowledge than any other dwarf who had ever lived, Dunner was chosen to receive the dwarven portion of the Sovereign Stone. He brought it back with him to the city of Saumel. Unfortunately—”
Kolost stopped him. “These books…Can you read them?”
“I can,” said Wolfram. “All the Children of Dunner are taught to read. Dunner taught the first, and they taught those who came after.”
“Go on,” Kolost said. “What happened to Dunner? Why did he become a Dominion Lord?”
“No one knows for certain,” said Wolfram cautiously. “One of the stories is that he hoped the Transfiguration would cure his crippled leg, and he could go back to riding again.”
“The Trans-fig-ur-a-tion,” said Kolost, sounding it out slowly. “This is the ceremony where the Wolf gives the Dominion Lord the magical armor. Tell me about it.”
“I can’t,” said Wolfram. “We’re sworn to secrecy.”
That wasn’t quite true, but he wasn’t about to relive that wrenching, searing pain.
“So what happened to Dunner?” Kolost asked.
“He became a Dominion Lord and his leg was cured, but he remained one of the Unhorsed. No one knows why. He had some great disappointment in his life. It was said that he befriended the young prince, Dagnarus, and was horrified when the prince turned to evil, became Lord of the Void. Dunner left Vinnengael and took the Sovereign Stone to the dwarven realms. He hoped that the Stone would help the dwarves grow strong, but”—Wolfram shrugged—“since it came from the hands of a human, our people didn’t trust it.”
Kolost grunted, frowned, and shook his head at the stupidity of the dwarves.
“Dunner built a shrine for the Stone in Saumel,” Wolfram continued, “but few dwarves ever paid any attention to it. One day, Dunner found some children playing with the sacred Sovereign Stone—or so he thought. He was angry, until they told him that they were not playing with the Stone. They were the guardians of the Stone. Dunner was pleased by this, and it was then he left Saumel, never to return. It is said that when the first Children of Dunner came of age, those who were called to be Dominion Lords went in search of him. Are you thinking you might become a Dominion Lord?” Wolfram asked slyly.
“Me? No,” said Kolost, looking shocked. “I mean no offense, and I hope you will take none, but in order to lead the people, I must win their trust and their loyalty, and I couldn’t do that if I were a Dominion Lord. As you say, dwarves do not trust any gift that came from the hands of a human king.”
“But it didn’t,” Wolfram argued. “The Sovereign Stone was a gift of the gods…er…the Wolf.”
“You know that, and I know that,” said Kolost, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “The Wolf told me that I must find the Stone and bring it back. Even though I will not become a Dominion Lord, I want dwarven Dominion Lords riding beside me. I want their strength, their wisdom—”
“Dominion Lords are not warriors.” Wolfram felt compelled to point out. “They are bound to peace.”
“Just so,” said Kolost. “After war comes peace. You dwarven Dominion Lords will help me keep what I gain.”
Wolfram scratched his beard, amazed and bemused by this remarkable man. Most dwarves never see beyond this night’s sunset, as the saying goes. Here was one who saw beyond a lifetime of sunsets to a bright sunrise.
He had to correct a flaw in Kolost’s thinking, though.
“You said ‘you’ Dominion Lords,” said Wolfram. “Don’t count me among them.”
“Why not, Wolfram?” Kolost asked. “What happened? Why did you give it up and flee?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wolfram muttered.
“But you already have. In your sleep. I know it has something to do with Gilda—”
“Stop!” Wolfram roared. He glared at Kolost.
“Who is she, Wolfram? Your mate?”
Wolfram shook his head. The pain ached, throbbed.
“Who then?” Kolost said softly.
“My twin sister. Gilda.”
Kolost was silent. If he’d said anything, Wolfram would not have spoken. But he had to fill the silence. Otherwise, he would hear her voice. He had worked hard to banish the sound. He had filled his life with other voices so that he wouldn’t have to hear it. Now, in the silence, he could hear her voice alone, and though it was far distant and he couldn’t understand her, he knew that she wanted him to tell her story, their story.
“We were Children of Dunner. That’s what you call us.” Wolfram gave a snort. “Children of wretchedness is more like it. You know what it is like to be the children of the Unhorsed. Their lives are empty and desolate, and that is the legacy they hand down to their children. You had the guts to refuse that legacy. You had the guts to leave.”
“You also refused the legacy, Wolfram,” said Kolost.
“I thought so,” Wolfram admitted. “When I first saw the Sovereign Stone, saw how beautiful it was, shining crisp and clean like a star on a bitter-cold night, I thought I’d found my calling. I told Gilda about it and took her to see it. We pledged ourselves to the Stone. We served it, guarded it, along with the other Children of Dunner. No one else cared about it, but it meant something to us—hope of a better life. We used to talk about becoming Dominion Lords, like Dunner, and traveling to all those wonderful, magical places we’d heard so much about from the traders who came to our city. And now I’ve seen ’em all,” he added softly, almost to himself. “Every one of them.”
He sighed deeply and remembered.
“All the Children start out wanting to become Dominion Lords, but few do. Most l
ose interest in the Stone when they reach their teen years. They think more of taking a mate, earning their way. But some are called. We were, she and I. Dunner came to us in a fire-vision and told us to seek his gravesite. The way was hard and long. Our trials were many. We succeeded because we were together. Neither of us could have done it alone. I knew we would be Dominion Lords together…”
He paused, swallowed, but that was only to moisten his throat. The words, the memories crowded thick on his tongue. Gilda was right. It was a relief for him to speak of this. He’d never done so, not until now.
“We wondered what the Tests would be, if they would be very difficult, for we’d heard stories from the human traders about the Tests their lords underwent. As it turned out, the search for Dunner’s grave was the Test. He told us that. His spirit told us, that is. He spoke to each of us, alone, and asked us if we were ready to undergo the Transfiguration. It was the proudest moment of my life…and of hers.”
Wolfram rubbed his aching forehead.
“I’m not a Dominion Lord.”
“You passed the Test…” Kolost prompted.
“The Wolf won’t forgive me. I renounced the gods. I said terrible things to them. And I meant them, every one,” added Wolfram with a flash of ire. “After what they did…” He fell abruptly silent.
“What did they do?”
He didn’t answer, at first. When he did, his voice was soft with fury. “Gilda wanted to be a Dominion Lord. She worked hard at it, twice as hard as I did. She was more worthy than I was. I went along with it mostly because of her. And they killed her for it. She died in the flames. I can still see her…still hear her cries…”
He could say no more. He bit his lip to keep the bile from bubbling up out of his throat. When he was in command of himself again, he looked up, defiantly.
“I gave her my medallion. It was hers by right. I placed it in the coffer with her ashes and buried it beneath the long grass of the plains of our homeland, beside Dunner’s grave. Then I left, and I haven’t been back.”
Kolost began to bank the fire, reverently performing the parts of the nightly ritual that are allowed to those dwarves who are caught benighted without a Fire magus present. That done, he wrapped himself in his blanket and went to sleep.
Journey into the Void Page 30
