Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2)

by Klay Testamark

  “Oh—bad fall. Bad fall!”

  “You okay?” Grahothy asked.

  “—Aghk turn me over gonna vomit—”

  They flipped me before I puked into my helmet. My breakfast came pouring out the eye-slits. I retched for a long time and was miserable.

  They poked a straw through the visor. I rinsed my mouth, spat to wash the inside of my helmet. It helped with the smell.

  “All right, champ,” Vitus said. “Now you gotta get up on the horse again.”

  I started crying.

  But they got me in that goddamn saddle. Gave me another lance, for all the good it would do. I put spurs to the horse and lowered the lance. Palm up, couched under my arm. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe!

  WHAM

  CHAPTER 26: MEERWEN

  We cleared the Northlands temple without further difficulty. Embarrassed, Mina threw herself into the task and we took no casualties.

  We found the prisoners where the humans had left them. The abbey lacked dungeons, of course, so the invaders had thrown the nuns into the dormitory and bricked up the doors and windows.

  “Stand back!” I punched my way through.

  Among their number were several escaped slaves. The temple had sheltered more, but most had been taken by new masters. The ones that remained were judged to be worthless. They wouldn’t survive another journey.

  Conrad’s was wide-eyed. “My people were farmers but none of them got as bad as this.”

  Five halfling men and women. They were a wretched lot. Their backs were bent and their arms hung askew. Hard labour had ruined the joints and twisted the bones. Without tools, their callused hands were empty. I doubted if any were half my age, but years of abuse had withered their bodies. They shuffled into the light, hurting at every step, looking like ancient corpses.

  One slave, the black one, had something of a family resemblance with Conrad. She could have been his mother.

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh.” He tried to give comfort but the woman cringed, expecting a blow. He backed away, biting his knuckles.

  “This is how it’s always been,” Olympia said. “In the human chiefdoms the strong rule and the weak are property.”

  When he could speak normally he said, “It’s monstrous.”

  “It’s the Northlands.”

  I saw marks from chains and ropes, whips and branding irons. One man had been beaten close to death—his back was a mat of ropy scars. More than back-breaking labour, these people had endured cruelty enough to dim their eyes and stun them into silence.

  “Alfredi! Alfredi, I need you!”

  “Save your healer, Baron Czeleborn,” Olympia said. “It would take weeks to straighten their bodies, to say nothing of their minds.”

  While others secured the temple and evacuated the prisoners, Olympia took me and Father to the deepest part of the complex. It was a simple stone vault. Four pillars stretched to the ceiling. I sensed the great weight of the monastery complex above us. And beneath us? I activated my Sight. “Oh, wow.”

  My father frowned. “I don’t see anything. But geomancy was never my strongest subject. Daughter?”

  “Like, oh wow.”

  Whoever had built this temple had been an earth mage of the highest order. From this underground chamber, I could see for miles. It was like being in an observatory that could peer through solid rock. “The floor’s gone transparent. The walls, ceiling. Everything. And I know how to seal the portal.”

  They asked me how. It was hard to explain. The elven wizard had put as much work here as they had in Brandish. Back home they’d raised a mountain. In the Northlands they’d laid the foundations for another mountain—a goddamn volcano.

  Beneath our feet great forces slumbered. There were vast caverns and connecting tunnels. There were subterranean rivers emptying into sunless seas. And there were magma chambers. Everything had been shaped by a single mind. The region would not suffer earthquakes. It would not trigger by accident. But it was also like a line of dominoes. The right push, in the right place, was all it needed to implode. “It’s a combination lock,” I said. “I can unlock it now.”

  Father turned to the Abbess. “This was your home, Olympia. Your life’s work. You must give the order.”

  Olympia sighed. “We will rebuild, you know. We will go on with our mission. There are always other ways. There—” Her voice broke.

  Finally she whispered, “The order is given.”

  I walked to one corner and stamped twice, hard. I skipped to another corner and did a little dance. Then, still dancing, I shuffled back to the centre and finished with a hop.

  They stared.

  “It’s nice, dear,” Olympia said. “But when will you get started?”

  “Aren’t you going to knock something down?” Father pointed at the most ornate pillar. “This thing, maybe?”

  “No, that was it. Bringing down the pillars wouldn’t have done anything—they don’t even reach the ceiling.”

  He walked up to a wall, walked up the wall, and crouched on the ceiling. He brushed aside his beard and frowned. “Why, so they don’t.”

  “Please don’t do that,” Olympia said. “It makes me dizzy.”

  “It’s a useful skill. Nobody ever looks up. The urge to drool on people…”

  “The architect was paranoid,” I said. “Didn’t trust non-elves, or elves who didn’t share his branch of magic.”

  “Her branch of magic,” Olympia said. Father almost fell of the ceiling. “A female wizard?” he said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

  She laughed. “Says the man who taught magic to his daughter. Why do you think we’re an order of nuns?”

  “I never thought about it. I always believed nunneries were for ug—I mean I never thought about it.”

  “Ugly, eh? Why don’t you say that to my face? Meerwen, are you sure it worked?”

  There was a rumble. The floor dropped six inches. My father fell from the ceiling. “Oof!” he said as Olympia caught him. “My hero.”

  Sand began pouring from holes in the walls. I’d never noticed them before. “Time to go,” I said.

  “Indeed, time to go,” Father said. “Thataway!”

  Olympia dropped him.

  The dominoes were falling. The temple was shaking. Sand was getting into everything. Deep below caverns crumbled and lakes drained of their contents. Water mixed with molten rock to make steam and pressure. The air was thick with the stink of rotten eggs. The stench was like a punch in the nose. Outside, I knew, the moat was dry.

  The ground cracked. The cracks grew. The ground dropped two feet and shattered, sending dust into the air. But the temple’s gray walls stood firm, and would do so a moment longer. The earth shuddered and jerked, and from the highest tower rolled the thunder of bells. The bells. They rang themselves. They called no-one to prayer—the temple was near-deserted and any nearby humans had long since fled. The bells tolled for nothing and for no one. It was the end.

  Statues broke from their bases. Abbesses gone before, they caught upon the prayer banners and pulled them down. Yellow silk tore. Marble smashed. And the bells, the bells, the bells clangoured out of tune. Czeleborn met us on the way. We ran for the portal, which would serve one last time.

  I glanced at a stained-glass window. It depicted a knight with a shield and it was a masterpiece. I was probably the last person to appreciate it. Olympia grabbed a rock and hurled it through the window. “I always wanted to do that!”

  “Come on!” Czeleborn said. “Time time time!”

  We made it to the portal. The bells. The brazen bells. They kept on swinging, kept on banging and battering. I was half out of my mind. “Is everyone here?” I asked. “Good. We have two minutes!”

  “We’re staying!” Conrad said. “Our minds are made up.”

  “Then go!” Olympia said. “Up the stairs. Out the front gate!”

  The room shook again. Earth piled in the corners. A huge slab of door fell slowly across the entrance.

&
nbsp; “I’m going with them,” Sandy said. “I know the nearest safe house.”

  “Then go! Go!” Olympia was crying.

  Borlog looked back. “I’ll keep them safe.”

  And they were gone. It was five of us now. I glanced from Mina to Czeleborn, from Father to Olympia. She was saying “They’ll make it, they’ll make it.”

  “Now would be a bad time for the portal to fail,” I said.

  The ground dropped from under us. There was a moment of disorientation as the air pressure, the gravity, even the planet’s magnetic field changed. We found ourselves at the bottom of Snow Mountain and the silence was loud.

  Mina screamed. “Heyyeyaa! We made it! We’re home!”

  CHAPTER 27: ANGROD

  When I woke up, Vitus, Grahothy, and my sparring partners were cutting me out of my armour..

  “Oh, hai,” I said. “Hawar yewww?”

  “This looks bad. The way he landed on his head, how can he continue?”

  “Hey, hey.” Vitus snapped his fingers. “You all right? How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Wow. Much fingers. Very hand.”

  “He’s fine.”

  They got me back to my tent, sat me on a stool, and removed my badly-dented armour. They started with the next harness, the final one. This was real armour, the kind that worked as well on foot as on horseback. It was only a third as heavy as jousting armour and much more flexible.

  “Such shiny.”

  Vitus frowned. “Gotta say, elf, were this a normal judicial duel Hafgan would’ve won his case already. I don’t know if you can take any more. You want me to drape a white flag over your shield?” He meant Arawn’s coat of arms.

  “Nnno,” I said. “Can’t surrender. Promised.”

  “No promise is worth your life.”

  I shook my head. “This is. Understand?”

  He nodded. “Much yes.”

  The sorceress-queens sat in the stands. They watched as Angrod was half-carried to his horse and manhandled into the saddle.

  “What is this?” Morgawse said. “He can barely hold himself upright.”

  “Hafgan is as fresh as ever,” Nivian observed.

  Cerdwen snorted. “How can the elf hope to win? He has no chance—isn’t that right, field marshal?”

  “Indeed,” Bedvir said. “My man has every advantage. This Angrod Veneanar has none.”

  “Well, I put my momeny on him!”

  “Sophia!” Morgawse said. “You’ve been gambling?”

  “I’m a grown woman, so I am! You can’t stop me. And my friend has been helping.” She pointed at the woman beside her.

  The older sisters looked at the woman, who wore a veil over her face. Even her horns were covered. “And who might you be?” Cerdwen asked.

  “I am the Lady Nessa,” Dagonet said. “I know gambling—I grew up with casinos.”

  “How are you?” Morgawse asked. “I had heard you suffered an accident on the way here.”

  “A… accident, yes. Got better.”

  “Hmm. Well, what do you think of this impertinent elf? The nerve of him, to think he can stand before our finest warrior. And him in that condition.”

  “Is it true, Ladynessa?” Sophia was wide-eyed. “Am I gonna lose my momeny?”

  “I can’t say for sure.” But then Angrod spurred his horse.

  “What’s he doing?” Cerdwen said. “What’s he doing? He’s insane!”

  “No. He’s going the distance.” Dagonet smiled. “He’s beginning to believe.”

  They’d removed the tilt barrier so we could fight after dismounting. They handed me a lance, a real one. Eleven feet of sturdy ash, designed not to break, but to destroy. Hafgan had one like it too. I sat in the saddle a long time, aching everywhere. I’d be covered by bruises, if I lived.

  If I lived.

  I snickered in my helmet. If I lived. I giggled. I had no reason to worry about bruises, or aches, or anything anymore. This was the end, I saw that now. I was done running. And once you stop caring about mere survival it gets easier to think about what to do with your life. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got minutes left—you can still do something meaningful. And this was the best thing I had ever been asked to do.

  I laughed and spurred my horse. This was my choice. My responsibility. Every doubt in my head was gone. A single voice spoke, and it told me to fight proud. It might have been my father. I laughed and spurred my horse. Levelled my lance. I thought about my friends. Heronimo, Mina, Meerwen. May you never need to know.

  This. This is it. This is it. Today’s the day. Today’s the day!

  “Veeneanaar!”

  WHAM

  The crowd leaped to their feet.

  “A double knockdown!”

  The impact jerked me from the saddle. I went flying, but so did Hafgan. We threw away our shattered lances and tumbled to the sand.

  We got to our feet and drew swords. We both had estocs, longswords made for plate armour. The edges weren’t too sharp, but the points were, and sturdy besides. I screamed and lunged. He batted the blade and I dodged his return thrust. We circled. Or he tried to. He was bigger, faster, stronger. I couldn’t outfight him or outlast him. But maybe he wasn’t as eager to die.

  “Raaagh!” I gripped the blade in one mailed fist and thrust it like a spear. He half-sworded it as well and then we both fought from of a crouch, stabbing at the seams in our armour, points sliding along the steel. He got me in the thigh. I got him in the armpit. I jabbed up to catch him under the chin and he punched through my breastplate. I staggered and he grabbed my left arm. Crack.

  He threw me several feet. Tried to twist my other arm behind me, but that didn’t work. My right arm moved like a snake and knocked him off his feet. I drew my dagger and leaped at him. He kicked me before I could stab him in the eye. I rolled to my feet and almost fell down. He’d stabbed me in the guts, it felt like, and my left leg was bleeding too. I was dizzy and having trouble thinking. He had his knife out too. But then he threw it away.

  “Fool!” I staggered into a running attack. He picked me up and dropped me over his knee. I heard something snap, and then I couldn’t move my legs. Didn’t matter. I still had my knife. I slashed at him but he stepped back.

  “Fight me,” I said, as lay there. “Fight me, you coward. Fight me!” I stabbed the sand, trying to pull myself toward him. My broken arm flopped uselessly. “Fight meee!”

  He shook his head. “I will not.”

  “I don’t need your mercy! Get over here. I’ll tear your eyes out! I’ll bite your ears off. Fight. Me.” I started to curse him. “Fool. Fight me now and live a long life. Fight me not and your father shall bury you. Destruction will meet you in a distant land and your death shall not come quickly. Fight me.”

  He shivered. “Though I may regret this, I will not.”

  I couldn’t lift my head anymore. “Meerwen… Meerwen… No, Tamril. Tamril! I am killed, Tamril. Please take me away.”

  A shadow fell over me. I looked from the spreading pool of blood and saw Arawn—

  I woke up to a strange bed and unfamiliar ceiling. There was a skylight. I definitely wasn’t home.

  “The sleeper has awakened.”

  Arawn sat at my bedside. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and I told him so. He waved a hand over a table full of empty bottles. “Energy potions. They’ll give you wings.”

  “I’d settle for legs.”

  “My doctors did a good job. Stennik himself supplied your medication. Your hair might grow out blue, but you will walk again.” He pulled a bottle from under the table, which proved to be an icebox. “Recognize this?”

  “That’s Elrond’s strawberry champagne. What’s the occasion?”

  “You stopped the invasion.” He unwrapped the bottle and with his sword struck off the top. He poured a little out the window, muttering something about absent friends, then filled a glass. He checked it for glass shards and gave it to me.

  I sipped. “Sweet. Yeah, that�
�s party wine.”

  “I thought you’d like it. It’s a royal vintage.”

  “They all knew, didn’t they? Hafgan and the nobles.”

  He took another drink. “I needed to convince them that war would be a mistake. It usually is, but not one of them has lived as long as I have.” His argument was that elves were not soft or decadent. We only looked that way. Take away an elf’s advantages—his allies, his magic—and you were left with a fighting spirit that could burn the world.