The magister and his council of fat coin mongers.
He had grown so tired of their incessant whining about keeping the peace. They had asked him to just point to any he selected and they would be led back into the Bastion to be dealt with later. He would not be told how to perform his sacred duty.
He walked down the line, holding the hammer before them. They had no idea what they beheld. For a moment one looked as if it might reach out and touch him. Make that mistake, Finngyr thought. As he suspected, the hammer was dormant in his grasp. Finngyr had no love of these creatures, but he would follow Daomur's law. He was not allowed to cull any who the hammer did not mark as a vessel, but in self-defense or against those who would stop him from performing his holy duty. In Daomur's name he wished they would try to stop him.
The humming caught Finngyr off guard at first. He stopped before a tall lanky human whelp. The human's shoulders sagged and its thick dark curls still held bits of the forest from its manhood tests.
The humming grew louder.
The hammer had never made noise. He wasn't sure what was happening. The most he had ever felt was a slight thrumming. Some Justices had confided they were not always sure when they did feel it and would cull the human just to be safe.
Some of the other humans in the line looked up when the hammer began to shake in his hands. Finngyr could only stare as a light burst from it, blinding him.
The human was staring at him now, confusion and then dawning horror on his face. This was no potential vessel of the Hungering God. This was Haurtu returned to destroy them!
“I cull thee!” Finngyr roared.
He brought the hammer around his back and over in a downward stroke, all of his strength behind the blow.
Finngyr felt the impact, waited for the give of soft flesh and the familiar crunch of bone. It felt as if he had struck stone. A blinding flash and what felt like hot wind engulfed him and threw him back, the hammer flying from his grasp.
Finngyr landed hard and tightened his muscles to keep the air from being knocked from him. Crunching as much as his armor would allow, he rolled with the momentum and rose in a crouch, his side axe already in his hand.
Finngyr heard the sounds of screaming and could just make out indistinct shapes running past him. He couldn't focus his eyes. The residual image of the flash still filled his vision. He had lost his hammer. What had he hit? Surely that blow had killed the whelp?
“Dwarves! To me!” Finngyr roared.
He made his way forward. Shadows danced before him. Something pushed into him, he removed it with a swipe of his axe and was rewarded with a satisfying scream.
“Do not stand before me! I walk in Daomur's grace and all who oppose me die in his name!”
He heard the rhythmic sounds of plate sliding on chain approaching. His vision was just starting to clear when the explosions began.
30
The Rescue
Riff shielded his eyes from the flash. He didn't have time to question how Master Almoriz knew that was going to happen. He looked back in time to see both Ghile and the culler flying in opposite directions away from each other. All this was for naught. Useless, he thought as he broke from the crowd and ran to where Ghile had landed in a rolling mess of limbs.
No one could have survived that blow.
People were screaming and running in every direction. Riff reached Ghile and couldn't believe it. Not a mark. The boy's head should have been bouncing off the Horn right now. Riff didn't have time to figure it out. Ghile was writhing on the ground, clutching his chest.
“Dwarves! To me!” Riff heard from behind him. The culler wasn't as hurt as Ghile, apparently. Riff lifted Ghile up and put an arm around him to lend support.
“I'm cursed. Adon, what have you done to me?” Ghile said.
“I'm not Adon, Sheepherder. Come on, we have to go,” Riff said as he pushed through the crowd. How he figured he was cursed after surviving a blow like that, blessed was more like it.
“Do not stand before me! I walk in Daomur's grace and all who oppose me die in his name!” rang out somewhere behind them.
Great, Riff thought. Where was that diversion the Master had promised? Anytime now would be just fine, thank you.
The entire field was suddenly illuminated as every bonfire erupted. The flames leaping up like golden red trunks to explode into roiling fiery canopies.
The canopies came to life like so many bees and swarmed back into the bonfires that birthed them. A second explosion issued forth, throwing ash and timber in every direction.
Riff had never dreamed Master Almoriz could command that much fire. It wasn't possible. The crafty old sorcerer had been holding out on him.
People panicked in earnest now, slamming into each other in their attempt to flee. A cloud of burning ash began descending. Riff covered his face with a sleeve. He chanced a glance behind them and saw the ash forming into a thick cloud.
Now that was more like it!
31
His Word is Law
“Bad for business,” Magister Obudar said.
He sat there, worrying his bearded chin. He was in his audience hall again. He used to like the place. It was where he came for meals while he received reports on profits.
Not lately, he thought.
The long dark stone table was surrounded by his clansmen. They argued amongst each other in harsh whispers, only stopping to listen when the guards ran in to give reports. The last guard was hours overdue. Lakeside was in chaos.
Obudar slouched there silently brooding. His lower back ached from the uncomfortable position, but the pain went with his mood. Except for his eyes, he was a statue. They moved over each of his clansmen in turn, daring one of them to return his gaze. When his clansmen had hastily shuffled in they called for the gates to be shut immediately. How could he do that? Many of the humans who lived in Lakeside were still streaming in, trying to get to safety. But with them came the others. The rioters and looters. He had a responsibility to protect those who lived within the town. He understood their fear. By Daomur, he had never been more afraid in his life. But humans were not dwarves. They were not masters of their emotions.
Lakeside's human elders had already been brought before him. They asked more questions than he would have liked. Questions he did not have the answers to. Those displays of power could only come from the gods. They had never seen such power. Neither had he. He had reminded them of the precariousness of their positions if they did not help to restore the peace. Then, dismissed them from the Bastion under the protection of his guards.
He had called for a curfew when that ash cloud had descended on the festival field. Once he had the Bastion sealed and his kinsmen safe, he had sent guards out into the town to restore order. Between the displays of godly magic and that culler bludgeoning his way through the humans, he was surprised things were not worse.
Where were those druids?
He had seen Mother Brambles presiding over the manhood tests after his opening announcement.
Why hadn't she done as she was supposed to? Hadn't that young druid spoken to her? So much for their beliefs in maintaining their precious balance. If they were going to be of no use in keeping the peace then he would have to send writs back to the capital city asking the laws that allowed their existence to be put back before the council.
Obudar pulled on his beard. Finngyr had ignored everything he was told. Damn him and his fervor. Obudar again wondered if the laws concerning the knight justices and their holy purge granted too much power to the sect.
“My lord, the Sorcerer Hengon is here, as you requested,” a guard announced. He and another guard had just entered, escorting the plump sorcerer behind them.
“Magister Obudar, I am here to serve,” the sorcerer purred as he inclined his bald head and held out his palms with little sausage shaped fingers.
“Serve yourself, human!” Knight Justice Finngyr spat as he entered the magister's audience chamber. His once shining armor was cover
ed in ash. Splatters of blood gathered in its crevices in dark splotches. He gripped his hammer tightly. It too was sullied from its work.
“Knight Justice!” the magister shouted. “You forget your place here!” Obudar did not remember the last time he had lost his temper, but he could feel it rising now. A full squad of twelve guards followed the knight justice. They too were covered in ash.
“Why aren't you guards patrolling the town as I ordered?” Magister Obudar demanded.
He couldn't see their faces through their visored helms, but by their body language, he could tell more than one of them would rather be anywhere else right now.
The knight justice pointed at the sorcerer. “Arrest that human. If he resists, kill him.”
Hengon started backing away, looking beseechingly to the magister for help.
“Hold that order, Sergeant!” the magister said.
The guards hesitated, staring at the knight justice and the magister in turn.
Undoing its clasp and removing his helmet, the sergeant stepped forward.
Obudar had known Sergeant Montul since the day he arrived at the Cradle. Montul was a solid leader who followed orders and never used more force than was needed to get the job done. He was as old as Obudar and hoped to finish his career with this assignment. A peaceful backwater where he could retire to long days of fishing on Crystal Lake.
The area around Montul's eyes, where his helmet allowed him to see, was an ashen mask. But, it couldn't hide the fear.
“I'm sorry, Magister,” Sergeant Montul said. He looked to his guards. “You heard the knight justice, take the prisoner.”
“What is going on here?” Magister Obudar said.
Finngyr smugly watched as the guards seized the human. He crossed the room, removed his helmet and gauntlets, and carefully placed them on the table before the magister. Obudar watched as half dried blood and ash smeared across his accounting scrolls.
“The law is being adhered to, Magister. That is what is going on here,” Finngyr said.
“There is a possessed vessel of Haurtu in the Cradle. Until he is captured, I am in command of all soldiers of the empire assigned here,” Finngyr said.
“But you culled him,” Fjorn stated matter-of-factly from beside Obudar. At least he was keeping his emotions in check.
“It is not dead, fools! I said an already possessed vessel. It is beyond culling. I would have captured it on the field if this human had not aided its escape.”
All the blood drained from Hengon's face and he would have dropped if not for the guards holding his arms.
“I have done nothing. I could not begin to control that much fire,” Hengon sputtered.
He looked again to Obudar. “Magister, I would never.”
The magister held up a hand. “Knight Justice, we need the soldiers to see to the safety of the citizens and goods of Lakeside.”
“And there we have it,” the knight justice said. “You can go guard your own warehouses, Magister. And do not bother sending for your Guard Captain. He is already under my command and gathering the other squads.”
The magister lowered himself into his seat, weighing the ramifications of everything he just heard. Lakeside was to be left unguarded then. Obudar knew there was nothing he could do. The laws were quite clear. As long as a human vessel was in the Cradle, the knight justice had jurisdiction. The knight justice also now had leave to cull any human, or dwarf for that matter, who stood in his way. Obudar felt every one of his one hundred and thirty years.
Hengon sensed the shift of power. It was tangible. The sorcerer was a survivor if anything. He had a good thing catering to the dwarves and human elders of Lakeside. He was not going to let some barefoot yokel from the highlands ruin things for him.
“Knight Justice, the boy you seek is Ghile of Last Hamlet. It is a small settlement in Upper Vale, in the upper most reaches of the Cradle, under the Horn,” Hengon said. He normally would have held some information in reserve for a better chance to profit from it, but this dwarf frightened him.
“I am not the only sorcerer in the Cradle, Knight Justice. The other is Almoriz of Whispering Rock. He and his apprentice frequent the outlying settlements.”
“Is that so, human?” the knight justice said, looking at the sorcerer as if just noticing he was there.
Hengon had never liked Almoriz and his vagabond ways. He owed his old teacher nothing. They had not spoken to each other in years. Hengon did not believe even the old wizard could have controlled that much fire. It simply wasn't possible, but better the dwarves blamed Almoriz. Hengon did not want to think what would happen if he was perceived as a threat and not just a useful tool.
“Strip him bare and lock him up. We wouldn't want him using any of his tainted magic,“ the knight justice said as he turned back towards the table. “Then, wait for me in the entrance hall. We leave for Last Hamlet.”
“Why do you need the entire platoon to capture one human?” Magister Obudar asked.
The knight justice donned his helmet and gauntlets, at first ignoring the question. It was only when the others began casting sidelong glances at each other that he answered in a calm controlled voice.
“That one human is a possessed vessel of Haurtu. Our doctrine says that is the first sign of the Hungering God's return. He cannot be slain by normal means, his god protects him. I must capture him and return with him to Daomount. Only the elders of my order can destroy him now.”
The knight justice had their full attention now. They clung to his every word.
“To add to this, he has powerful allies among the humans you have assured the empire you have full control over. If this Almoriz did, in fact, cause those magic fires and that obscuring ash cloud, then I will kill him, his apprentice, and that blubbering ball of flesh as they are all threats to the empire,” Finngyr said.
The knight justice picked up his hammer and spun on his heel. “And that is the last time I explain my actions to you simpering coin mongers.” With that, Finngyr marched out, followed by the guards dragging a whimpering Hengon.
32
Sacrifice
Ghile leaned against the cold damp cavern wall. He could feel it leaching warmth from him, but he welcomed the discomfort. His stomach growled again. Good, he thought. He should suffer. He felt it was just the beginning of what he deserved. He was cursed. He was a vessel of the Hungering God.
The pain in his chest, which he now knew came from the stone, was still there, but only a dull ache now. He considered attempting to tear his skin and pry the black stone out with his fingers.
The stone's power had protected him from the culler's blow, yet he had suffered from numerous burns from the hot coals and ash Riff had dragged him through. He had heard the others talking and knew now it had been Master Almoriz who had caused the fire and smoke. Little else could surprise him after all he had been through.
He had tried to escape from Riff once the searing pain in his chest had lessened to the point he could stand on his own. Riff had guided him into the woods where he was met by a druid and her shieldwarden. He had been violently sick and then broke into a stumbling run. The shieldwarden had scooped him up and carried him like a lost lamb. He had tried to use his powers to break free, but they would not come to him.
They brought him to this cave somewhere deep in the Redwood where Master Almoriz and Mother Brambles were waiting.
He screamed at them when they first tried to talk to him. He felt a little foolish now, but at the time all the pain he felt about Gar and those people who he saw burning from the fires. All the fears he had felt since finding the stone and everything else had all came out of him in a stream of tears and curses. He was especially cruel to Master Almoriz. If someone had told him he would have called the Sorcerer of Whispering Rock a filthy, lying murderer, he would never have believed it. But, he had.
They had deposited him in this small side cave; judging by the smell, the bear's lair. The bear was set to watch him, which it now did with a bor
ed expression. Even if the giant mountain of muscle and fur faded off to sleep, he doubted he could squeeze past it. It blocked all but the tiniest portion of the only exit leading into the larger space beyond. The smell was awful.
He tried sleeping so he could enter the dream world and confront Adon on the island. But that too did not happen. When he finally fell asleep he had slept like the dead. He woke torn between hoping the stone might have been broken when it saved his life and fearing it was.
So, now here he sat feeling foolish. He could see light and smelled the most delicious aromas coming from the outer cave. He could even hear voices, though they spoke in hushed tones. He was sure they were deciding what to do with him. Why had they saved him?
Of the humans he most feared in the world, a druid, a sorcerer, and a barbarian from the Nordlah Plains were at the top of the list. Though now, he would fight all three of them and this giant bear if it would mean he never had to face that dwarf again. The look on the dwarf's face when he struck him sent shivers racing across Ghile's skin. The dwarf had to be mad. Ghile thought of dwarves as without emotion. This culler had it in buckets. No sane creature could show horror, disgust, and yet still look exultant, all at the same time. It was hard to describe, but it disturbed Ghile and he couldn't stop picturing it, like a healing scab he couldn't stop harrying.
His stomach protested again. He was so hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this hungry. He didn't know what he was going to do, but at least he wouldn't have to make decisions on an empty stomach. He had sulked over his situation long enough.
He rose up and gingerly approached the resting bear. “Alright, bear. I'm not trying to escape. Please don't eat me,” Ghile said.
The Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1) Page 12
