Kathir's Redemption (Book 6)

by Kristian Alva

  “Hold it,” interrupted Tallin.

  Skemtun pressed on. “I’m dyin’, and there’s nothin’ anyone can do about it.” His voice broke, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m too old and too tired to explain this twice, so please listen until I’m through. Marretaela needs a new leader—someone who can lead them right. I’ve chosen ye as my replacement, if you’ll accept.”

  Tallin stared at him, shock written plainly on his rugged features. “I can’t be a clan leader—I’m a halfling!”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’ve talked to Utan and Sela already, and both of them have given me their blessing.

  “I can’t do it,” said Tallin quietly. “The other clans will never accept me.”

  “You’re wrong. I know my clan will accept you—I’ve already asked them. Times have changed, and there’s no reason why you should be treated any differently.”

  “But I don’t have any experience,” Tallin argued.

  “Ye’re a dragon rider! Ye have plenty of experience helpin’ people. Plus, ye’ll have advisors, just like all the other leaders. They’ll help guide ye to the proper decisions—but ye’ll be the one people will be followin’. Will ye accept the position?”

  A long pause followed, in which Tallin gazed at him speechlessly. Then a booming voice echoed in his mind.

  “Do it,” said Duskeye, his gravelly voice echoing from afar. “It’s about time you were appreciated by your own people.”

  “So you were listening in, eh? There’s too much pressure. I’m not keen on this idea. It’s too much responsibility. ”

  “More responsibility than being a dragon rider? Come on now, think about it. You’d make a terrific leader—and you’d finally get the respect that you deserve from the clans.”

  “Please consider it,” begged Skemtun. He paused for breath. “I know you’re very independent, and ye have to make your own choices, but your people need ye. You’re their best hope for surviving all these changes—ye’ve lived in the outside world. Ye could be like an ambassador for them—help them learn how to get along in this new home.” Skemtun’s voice weakened and faded as he finished. He fell back on his pillow.

  His pleading, coupled with his condition, weakened Tallin’s resistance. “To be sure, there is much to be done.”

  Skemtun looked at him with pleading eyes. “Please, Tallin. Do this for our people.”

  Tallin pursed his lips. After a moment of silence, he finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it—if the clans accept me.”

  Skemtun’s bleary eyes spilled over with grateful tears. “Thank ye,” he whispered, reaching out to clasp Tallin’s hand. The old man’s fingers were ice-cold.

  From across the room, Utan watched their quiet exchange with a knowing smile.

  Skemtun wheezed, and then closed his eyes. That was the last time that anyone spoke to him. Later that evening, Skemtun slipped into a coma and never awoke. Three days later, he died, and Tallin was nominated as his replacement. As expected, the other clans voted for him unanimously—with the sole exception of Bolrakei.

  Sela and Elias stayed to congratulate Tallin on his new position.

  They wanted to stay a few more days, but Brinsop announced that she had to return to the desert immediately—she was pregnant… and ready to nest. And if anyone remembered that Brinsop and Blacktooth had spent a great deal of time alone— well, no one said so.

  21. The Final Encounter

  Druknor left Highport the day after the elections, journeying through the snow back to his northern keep. His two dogs were foraging for food somewhere near the side of the road. It had been a long journey from Highport, and there had been little time to gather supplies, but he was tired of all the dwarf politics and anxious to return to home.

  The journey had been hard so far, especially without help, but he made his way north on his horse. Twice, he had been attacked by robbers on the road. Twice, he’d left their bodies for the crows to eat and had taken what little they had in the way of supplies for himself.

  The robbery attempts hadn’t bothered him—not really. What had really angered him was the fact that neither of the robbers had recognized him. In Sut-Burr, he was the absolute ruler. He was the most feared man in all of the Frigid Waste, to whom every smuggler owed their cut. His name was respected and feared; it was whispered among the people in the shadows. Yet these men on the road had treated him like he was just some lonely traveler.

  “I’m almost home,” he muttered to himself. He yanked the reins harder, forcing his horse to move faster. The beast would keep up, or it would die. Druknor had not built his reputation by being compassionate.

  It would be better once he returned home. Just a few more days—it wasn’t far now. He started to plan what he would do when he got back. A warm bath, some quiet time, and a nice bottle of wine sounded wonderful. Then he would set about putting his house back in order and go would from there.

  He whistled sharply to call his dogs back. They’d been hunting long enough. They could bring down a deer in seconds and could kill a man even quicker. But they still knew enough to obey him. With dogs, as with people, the key was to be the strongest in the pack.

  There was no sign of his dogs. He whistled again. He didn’t hear any barking. They should have come running. Druknor kept riding and decided to punish the dogs when they finally arrived. Fear only worked when it was well maintained.

  Somewhere in the semi-darkness, a shadow passed. He reined in his horse and squinted off into the distance. Was it a bear? Druknor paused, and then cursed himself for being so easily startled. It was likely nothing, and even if it proved to be something, Druknor would just kill it.

  The biggest disappointment had been his wasted journey to Highport. Oh, sure, Sut-Burr wasn’t going to be overrun by orcs anytime soon, and that was something, but Druknor had been invited there by the promise of something more. Far more.

  There had been the promise of everything that would happen if Bolrakei became ruler of the dwarves—the pickings from whatever unrest that followed, and the chance to run a smuggling route openly through Highport. There had been the promise of greater favor from Miklagard. Being allied with Miklagard would have given Druknor power and immunity on a vast scale. But nothing had gone as planned, and the entire journey was a disaster from start to finish.

  Another shadow moved out in the dim light. This time, Druknor drew his sword, but he did not stop. Few things would dare fight him out in the open.

  Druknor whistled for his dogs again. No answer.

  “Bugger it,” he said to himself.

  “Talking to yourself again, Druknor?” The voice came out of the shadows. Druknor recognized it instantly. His mouth went dry.

  “Skera-Kina?” he whispered.

  “I’m so glad you remember me,” she called back.

  Druknor whirled around but couldn’t see her. Druknor called again for his dogs.

  Skera-Kina laughed. The deep sound resonated in the frigid air. “Your hounds aren’t coming, Druknor. Not today. Not ever.”

  “Are you here to frighten me, Skera-Kina?”

  “Yes. But I plan to do more than that,” she said. She stepped out onto the road, directly in front of Druknor.

  Druknor looked around frantically, searching for some advantage. “Don’t be a fool, Skera-Kina. You can’t kill me—I’m the only spy you have on the mainland.”

  “Ah yes… you’re referring to the information you give us. So carefully selected. Do you ever tell anyone the whole truth?”

  “Stay back!” he shouted.

  “You’re afraid. I can see that you are trembling.”

  He could hardly deny it. “What—what do you want from me? A bargain? Is this about the slave prices? We can negotiate, you know.”

  Skera-Kina’s smile was a threatening grimace drawn tight with anger. “I don’t care a
bout your business, Druknor. I’ve got an old debt to settle with you. Do you remember a little elfling girl you sold to the Balborites?”

  “I sold many slaves over the years. What’s your point?”

  “My point? My point?” she hissed, “My point is that you sold that little girl, who was then turned into a weapon. You sold me, Druknor. You sold me like a piece of meat!”

  Druknor gasped despite himself. Then he forced himself to laugh. “You can’t kill me, Skera-Kina. The High Priest won’t allow it.”

  Skera-Kina smiled back at him. “Didn’t you hear, Druknor? It’s High Priestess Skera-Kina now.”

  Druknor felt the blood drain from his face. If Skera-Kina was telling the truth, then there was nothing stopping her now. Nothing standing between her and his death. But he wasn’t going to just stand there and die quietly.

  He charged at Skera-Kina with a roar, swinging his sword. Druknor was strong, but Skera-Kina parried the attack easily. She circled away as Druknor tried to follow, whirling his swords to keep her at bay.

  “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” she said, dodging as Druknor swung again. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about all the ways I might kill you.”

  Druknor feinted one way and then kicked up dirt in an attempt to blind her. Skera-Kina ducked low, sweeping her blade at Druknor’s knees so he was forced to jump back.

  There was something in her eyes that made Druknor shudder. He knew the things that the Balborites could do to their prisoners, but he attempted to keep up his façade of bravado all the same.

  “A little rusty with that blade?” Druknor asked as he swung at Skera-Kina with his own. She swiped his sword away with a quick movement of her wrist.

  “Impressive,” she said. “You’ve gotten better with a blade.”

  “Perhaps you underestimate me,” he replied.

  “Perhaps… but it won’t make any difference in the end, will it?” She said with a gleam in her eye.

  She pulled a small knife from her belt, twirling it with her thumb. She sent the dagger flying toward Druknor’s neck, but swatted it from the air with his sword.

  Druknor gathered up the strength he had left. Skera-Kina wasn’t invincible. One well-placed strike was all it would take. He charged forward, throwing attack after attack. Skera-Kina shifted and parried, dodged and blocked, never striking back, absorbing everything that Druknor had. She was mocking him. Then, finally, Druknor got lucky.

  Skera-Kina’s foot slipped.

  It must have been a patch of ice hidden under the snow. Whatever it was, Skera-Kina slipped and fell to one knee. Druknor didn’t hesitate. He threw himself forward, his sword raised for the blow that would finish her. There was no way she could dodge or roll away. Druknor cried out savagely in triumph as he raised his sword for the final blow. By the time he saw the twinkle in Skera-Kina’s eyes, it was too late. It was a trap.

  She thrust her dagger up into his ribcage from where he knelt. He struck empty space, while fire exploded in his chest. In an instant, he was on his back, staring up at the evening sky while a puddle of blood expanding underneath him.

  Skera-Kina’s face was calm as she leaned over him. Druknor wanted to reach up to choke her, but he couldn’t bring his limbs to move.

  “You’re lucky,” Skera-Kina said. “For you, this is the end. My life will be much longer and filled with drudgery. When you see the death god, tell him that he will have to wait a long time for me.”

  Druknor opened his mouth to speak, but the blackness closed in before he could.

  Skera-Kina looked down at his body. She felt no elation. There was no joy in this kill. She had an island to rule, and Xiiltharra would not let her dodge her responsibilities. Already, the shadowkey ached inside her chest. It had been prickling constantly since she left the island’s borders, and it just got more painful as time passed. She knew that she would never be able to leave Balbor for long periods. She was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web. She had traded one prison for another.

  Skera-Kina cleaned her family’s sword on Druknor’s tunic and stood there, letting the crisp cold of the evening seep into her. Then she started to make her way through the snow without looking back.

  The return to Balbor would be a long journey.

  Epilogue

  The dragon riders returned home as heroes and as symbols of hope. They all received special recognition from the king for their service. There was a great celebration, and an enormous feast was planned for all the riders and the citizens of Parthos. The people certainly needed such an event; it would help to raise their spirits after months of living in fear.

  Although great numbers of orcs perished during the destruction of Mount Velik, many survived to return to their lives at Mount Heldeofol. No one knew for sure if the orc king survived, but the greenskins kept quiet and stayed away from the human cities while they licked the wounds of their defeat. It would be many years before their numbers recovered enough for them to even consider another attack.

  A period of quiet followed, and within a few months, things had returned to normal. In fact, they were even a bit better than normal. All of Shesha’s eggs hatched on time, and every single one of her hatchlings survived. Shesha found a small cave near the city where she could care for her brood. All of the dragons worked together to ensure that the ravenous hatchlings always had enough to eat. Within a year, the young dragons were learning how to fly.

  Brinsop quietly disappeared into the desert in order to prepare her own nest and to lay her eggs in private. Sela kept their contact to a minimum, respecting the dragon’s need for seclusion. As they waited for news, the riders could hardly contain their excitement.

  A few weeks later, Brinsop sent an abrupt message to Sela; she had finally found a suitable nesting site and had laid a clutch of six eggs. Two of the eggs were onyx, and the rest were carnelian red. Sela sent a short reply, and then left her alone again.

  It was wonderful news. The dragon race was finally recovering.

  Soon, Nydeired, Karela, and Orshek would be old enough to mate as well, and everyone was hopeful that they would also help the dragons to survive.

  Tallin split his time between Parthos and Highport, flying back and forth between the two cities as the dwarves rebuilt their lives in their new home. Whenever he returned to the tranquility of the desert, he found himself wondering how he had been chosen to become a clan leader at all. He found his new role incredibly challenging. The job was just as, if not more, demanding than being a dragon rider.

  He wondered if his life would ever be calm again, but he also took pleasure in noting that all the changes were for the better.

  One evening, Sela met him outside while he was looking over the city walls from the castle rooftop. The moon was rising, and it cast silvery shadows on the dunes below.

  “Are you leaving for Highport tonight?” she asked. Her voice was soft.

  “Yes, the stable hands are preparing Duskeye’s saddle. I’ll leave as soon as they’re finished. He’s been enjoying the extra travel.”

  “How is everything going with the clans?”

  Tallin shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. The caverns are cramped and crowded, but they are working hard to expand them. There’s a great deal of work to be done. But there’s good news too. Mugla succeeded in finding an apprentice—a distant cousin on hers tested positive for mageborn powers. He’s only a third-degree mage, but at least it’s something.”

  “How are you managing your new responsibilities?”

  Tallin smiled. “My days are full. It’s a lot of work, being a leader. I have a whole new respect for the position.” He laughed. “It’s much easier to simply follow along with people who enjoy doing this sort of thing. But life is too short to be unhappy over trivial things, so I’m enjoying the adventure as much as I can along the way.”

  “That
’s good news. Did you hear about Druknor? I just got word from the capital today. He never made it back to Sut-Burr after leaving Highport. He’s been missing since he left Highport. His people were too afraid to contact the king, but they finally did. A report has been filed, but no one seems to know where he’s gone. There’s no trace of him anywhere. It’s like he’s disappeared. Vanished.”

  Tallin shook his head. “Ah, I’ll bet he’ll turn up soon. But if he doesn’t, I can’t say that I’d be that upset about it. Druknor’s made a lot of enemies over the years. He’s a wicked man, and there are many people who would like to see him dead.”

  She was silent for a moment. “It’s been a difficult year,” she murmured, “but things are getting better.”

  “Yes, they are,” he said. “I’ve never felt so focused on what I’m doing, and my purpose in life has never been clearer to me. I realize now that I am meant to help unite my people—to help them create a new life and kingdom for themselves.” He shrugged. “It feels good to have a purpose.”

  Suddenly, she moved to embrace him, but then she stopped. Tallin saw her hesitation and moved in close, wrapping his arms around her. His warmth and strength seemed to soothe Sela, and she allowed herself to be comforted by Tallin’s embrace. She inhaled deeply and blew out a long breath. When she finally pulled away, her lashes were lowered and her cheeks pink.

  Tallin was unused to seeing her so vulnerable. “Do you feel better?”

  She nodded, looking a bit ashamed. “You’re smiling,” she said.

  “I guess I am,” he admitted. Then he laughed and reached down to kiss her. They were interrupted by a shout, which was followed by the appearance of the twins, Galti and Holf, bounding up the steps to the rooftop. Sela and Tallin pulled away from each other abruptly.

  “Did we interrupt something?” Galti asked loudly, looking at both of them with a rather curious expression.