“They say me cousin be keepin’ strange company,” said Raene.
“Yes, you are much alike. Roakore has a longing in his heart for the road as well, and like you, he is a ferocious warrior.”
Raene wasn’t used to hearing herself referred to as such, and she eyed Azzeal with even more suspicion. “Why are ye tryin’ to be me friend?”
Azzeal appeared genuinely baffled by such a question. “I like you. You’ve got a fire inside you that is to be admired. And Chief likes you. He’s a pretty good judge of character.”
“How in the hells did the witch make the figurine anyways?”
“I have known Gretzen for over two hundred years and have yet to figure her out. Hers is an ancient, spiritual sorcery discovered by the barbarians of old. I studied her people for many years. They are quite interesting.”
“Two hundred years? Humans ain’t that long-lived.”
Azzeal regarded her with a mischievous grin. “I may have had a hand in her being long-lived.”
Gretzen emerged from her tent then and pointed at Raene with a crooked finger. “You,” she said and disappeared behind the flap.
Azzeal lifted his brow. “If you wish to join the hunt for Zander, I would advise trying to be civil.”
Raene scowled at him and tossed her bowl in his lap. She approached the tent, trying to seem tough, but found that she was quite nervous. She wiped her sweaty hands on the leather coat covering her chain mail. With a steadying breath she pushed back the flap and went inside.
Gretzen sat waiting for her beside the fire at the center of the wide, two-post tent of animal hide. “It is time,” she said, handing Raene the trinket.
Raene looked it over nervously. There was a small seam where the crack had been, but it appeared to be whole.
“Does it work?” she asked.
Gretzen offered her a shrug. “We shall find out. Call to the wolf first.”
Raene raised the trinket out before her.
“Chief, come to me!”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the figurine began to glow. With a brilliant flash of light Chief emerged from the trinket and swirled around her.
“Chief!” she cried and dropped to her knees.
He gave a delighted bark and shifted over to her, solidifying on top of her and licking her face repeatedly. Raene giggled and wrestled him off, only to have him turn to mist and spin around her twice before knocking her down once more.
“That is enough, Chief.” Gretzen said it in a level voice; still, it bothered Raene to no end to hear someone else besides Dirk or Krentz command her wolf.
He obeyed her with a happy grin and a steady wagging of his misty tail and sat beside the fire. Raene pulled herself up and sat in the chair that Gretzen indicated absentmindedly. She rummaged through her collection of ingredients.
“You did it,” said Raene. “Thank ye, Gretzen.”
The old woman waved her off. “I do this for Chief, and the others trapped inside the trinket. Now, tell me, how did they die?”
“Well, Dirk told me that when he stuck Krentz in the figurine she was alive. He had Chief there latch onto her and draw blood when he dismissed him.”
Gretzen stopped what she was doing to regard her. The many lines in her face furrowed toward center, making her look quite ancient. “And then…?”
“Then he summoned her and she appeared as Chief does, and every time ever since.”
Gretzen nodded at that and scribbled something down on parchment. “And this human you speak of, Dirk, how did he become beholden?”
“He said that he was dying. Eadon had struck him down, and then Krentz, ye see, she up and—”
“Was he mortally wounded?”
“Aye, horribly, so they said.”
Gretzen nodded gravely and motioned for her to continue.
Raene took a calming breath—she didn’t like being interrupted. “As I was relayin’…Krentz urged Dirk to dismiss her and he did just that. Just like Chief had done, Krentz pulled him inside as well.”
“And this is when you came across the trinket?”
“I found it later, yeah.”
Gretzen mulled this over as she stared at the fire. For a long time she did not speak. Raene got a better look at the herbs, roots, bones, liquids, powders, spices, and numerous other strange conjuring tools. She didn’t understand barbarian magic, and she didn’t trust it, either—to her, anyone who practiced with controlling spirits was to be watched with a guarded eye.
When finally Gretzen stirred from her deep pondering she muttered something to herself and began rummaging through her ingredients, then sat cross-legged on the floor and bent over her work closely, so that her furs obscured Raene’s view.
“Can ye help ‘em?”
Gretzen regarded her, cockeyed. “We shall see. The elf lass wasn’t injured. She will be first.”
Raene’s heart sank. “What about Dirk?”
Gretzen ignored her and began measuring out a red powder. Raene grabbed her arm, causing some of it to spill. “What about Dirk, damn ye!”
The old witch growled at her and pushed her away with surprising strength. “Now look what your impatience had caused! Keep your damned hands to yourself and stay out of my way.” She grumbled incoherently and carefully scooped up the red powder that had contaminated the others.
“Sorry,” Raene mumbled, hoping she hadn’t caused too much hassle. “He’s my friend, is all. I…I worry about him.”
Gretzen looked to her and her hard-lined face turned soft. It was then that Raene saw the kindness in the woman’s deep-set and darkened eyes, and a weary sadness. “Of course you are.” She reached out a hand and patted Raene’s. “Once I’ve retrieved Krentz, if I can retrieve her, we will see if Dirk wishes to take the risk.”
Raene gulped. “Risk?”
“Yes. If he was pulled into the spirit world injured, as you say, I may not be able to bring him back whole. He may come back with the same injuries.” Gretzen noticed Raene’s worry and squeezed her hand tightly. “I have never done something like this, but I will do my best.”
Raene nodded, fighting the tears welling in her eyes. “Thank ye.”
Chapter 41
Like Father, like Son
“Where the hells be me son!”
Roakore’s wife, Arrianna, jumped as the door slammed against the wall. “Don’t ye be doing that!” she screamed and tossed a shoe at him.
He walked deeper into the room and took her by the shoulders. “Where be Helzendar?”
“Last I known he be workin’ in the foundries.”
“Bah! I just been there. Scoured the place, I did. No one’s seen him!”
She guided him to the bed and eased him down with some force. “Now calm yerself or ye’ll stroke out like yer grandpa.”
He grumbled but let her fuss over him. “Bah. I be dying with steel in me hands and whiskey in me veins. Ain’t no malady going to stop the king o’…o’…” Roakore clutched his chest and winced. “What the hells be that?”
His wife gazed at him with intense green eyes and put an ear to his chest. “That be palpitations. Either ye be dyin, or ye be a worried father.”
“Eh? Damn it, lass, speak plainly.”
She squeezed his cheeks and kissed him hard. “Ye be worried, is all, ye darling, simple dwarf.”
Roakore let out a long sigh. “He done run away with the five hundred. I know it in me gut. The damned fool is gonna get himself killed.”
Arrianna, clutched her skirt at her stomach and sat beside him, deflated. “By Ky’Dren’s beard…me boy.”
Roakore forgot his worry when he saw the concern in his young wife’s eyes. “Now, now, then. He be yer’s and mine—them dragons ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em.”
“Ye think he really did it?” she asked, as though the realization had finally set in. She grabbed at Roakore’s dragon-hide vest urgently.
“Aye, he’s done a right fool thing.”
“Fool thing?
Fool thing!” Arrianna shot up and began pacing the room. “He did this to prove himself to YE!”
“Darling, ye be distraught. Calm down—”
“Don’t ye be tellin’ me to calm down!” she said with a shaking, pointing finger. “Ye run around all over Agora fightin’ dark elves ‘n’ Draggard ‘n’ the bloody dark lord himself with a bunch o’ elves ‘n’ humans. How ye think yer sons be seein’ ye”
“I…I…”
“Ye be their bloody hero. Ye ain’t for knowin’, but I been with the boy since he be born. Ye seen him a handful o’ times up until six months ago.”
“Arrianna, me dear, I got me two hundred young’uns. You be one o’ twenty-some wives. There only be one o’ me for Ky’Dren’s sake!”
She lost her fury to his pleading and broke down crying. “I be sorry, me king. Ye don’t be deservin’ such words.”
He took her into his arms on the side of the bed and comforted her with his strong embrace. “There, there, don’t ye be worrying yerself. He be a strong lad, and a gifted mover o’ stone. He’ll give ‘em a what for. And if by some chance…the gods take him, he’ll have earned himself a place in the mountain o’ the gods.”
Once, he would have believed the words as she did; once, he would have had faith in the gods. But since Nah’Zed’s death a stubborn shadow of doubt had crept into his mind, and he had the horrible feeling that he would never see his son again, neither on this side of the heavens nor the other.
The food was bland, but it was food. The water was warm, but it quenched his thirst. Helzendar reminded himself that even a dwarf prince was a warrior first, and princely meals weren’t to be found in a warrior’s bowl.
The white beard sat beside him, ogling him from the corner of his eye as he had been doing for some time. “I seen ye before,” the old dwarf finally said.
Helzendar offered him a dismissive glance and wave. “Eat yer food, whitebeard. Ye ain’t never seen me afore.
“Oh, I seen ye afore, and me name be Du’Ren Barr,” said the old dwarf.
Helzendar focused on his gruel, hoping Du’Ren would just leave him alone. Instead, the incessant old dwarf leaned in closer. “Ye be one o’ the sons o’ the king.”
Helzendar leveled him with a dangerous glare. “Ye be outta yer head, ye be.”
Du’Ren hummed a deep laugh and got to his feet. Helzendar breathed a bit easier to see him go. But then the dwarf grabbed a stone plate and tossed it at Helzendar, who instinctively gave it a mental push that sent it crashing into the opposite wall.
“Hey!” one of the dwarves who was eating nearby cried and chucked it back at him. This time Helzendar caught it and scowled at Du’Ren. He glanced around to see if anyone else had seen him move the plate… They had. Du’Ren grinned wide and pointed a finger at him.
“This be the son o’ the king!” he roared.
Helzendar groaned.
“What’s all the ruckus about back here?” General Hammerfell hollered and came storming into the mess hall.
“He be the son o’ the king!” said one of the dwarves.
Orrin’s eyes went wide and he slowly crept closer to Helzendar. “By Ky’Dren’s bloody, damned, axe…are ye out o’ yer mind, lad?”
The others had begun to stir. Some stood and began to walk over to get a better look at him. Before Helzendar could answer, Du’Ren gave a cheer. “Now there’s a prince o’ dwarves. Sneaks on a ship to take part in a suicide mission! Ain’t no pampered life o’ leisure on the back o’ others for this one. No sir, no thank ye! He be hungry for dragon blood, he be. Hail Helzendar!”
“Hail Helzendar!” the crowd cried and cheered.
General Hammerfell pursed his bushy lips and regarded Helzendar with a firm scowl. He spoke not a word but pointed to the hall. The young dwarf was unable to hide his grin. The others patted him on the back and slammed their fists to their chests as he passed. He offered Du’Ren a wide smile. The dwarf winked.
The general led him up to the deck and into his quarters and slammed the door shut behind him. “What in the name o’ the gods ye think ye be doing?”
“Me duty, sir!” Helzendar slammed his fist to his chest and kept it there. The other he placed near the small of his back. He stood proud, chest up and eyes forward, like a soldier.
Orrin glowered down at him. “Yer bloody duty, eh? Yer duty be mindin’ yer father and king.” He backhanded Helzendar hard across the face, splitting his lip.
“Yes, si—”
Orrin slapped him again. “Don’t godsdamned ‘sir’ me! Ye ain’t in me army. I’d throw ye in the brig if I had one. Stowin’ away be a serious offense, don’t ye be knowin’?”
“I had to do it!” Helzendar blurted, standing strong. “I passed me test near on six months ago. I don’t give a shyte how long me beard be. I’m as strong as any o’ em out there. I survived the fall o’ Cerushia at the hands o’ the Draggard, even killed one o’ the bastards, I did. I was there when Eadon took Tarren, and I be able to move stone with the best o’ me kin. Ye’ll be needin’ me.”
Orrin paced back and forth in front of him, shaking his head. “Ye fool boy. Ye ain’t but sixteen and already ye want to be throwin’ yer life away.”
“If I die, I be endin’ up in the mountain o’ the gods. So what be the point in waitin’?”
Orrin turned a dangerous eye on him. “Ye want to earn yerself a place in the mountain o’ the gods, then ye toil day in and day out for yer mountain and king. And if ye be a warrior, ye fine tune yer fightin’ body into a killin’ machine. Ye don’t run off and get yerself killed before ye reach yer prime!”
Helzendar bowed his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I didn’t want to miss out on the warrin’. By the time I be o’ age, we’ll have won.”
“Ye think the time’ll come when there ain’t some godsforsaken evil roamin’ around this world? Ye think that after thousands o’ years o’ war and strife we dwarves’ll find ourselves without wolves knocking at the door?”
“I’m ready now,” said Helzendar with a raised chin.
“Ye ain’t heard a damned word I’ve said, have ye?”
Helzendar stared forward. “Every word. Facts remain, we be headed to Drakkar, and I be fit to fight.”
Orrin stood directly in front of him and forced him to meet his eyes.
“So what ye be sayin’ is, it don’t matter none anyway. Ye be thinkin’ there ain’t nothin’ I can do. I ain’t goin’ to turn the ship around, and I ain’t keepin’ ye waitin’ aboard when we land? But what if I did?”
Helzendar blinked, knowing that he had lost a small battle in doing so. He gave a sigh. “Please, General Hammerfell. Let me take part in the attack. Let me redeem my stupidity. Let me—”
“Enough!” Orrin eyed him up and down. “I liked ye better when ye wasn’t beggin’. Ye be wantin’ war and glory, ye be getting’ it. But know this…”—he pointed a crooked finger at him— “ye disobey me at any point from here to the mountain o’ the gods, I’ll take it outta yer arse on the other side.”
“Yes, sir.” Helzendar couldn’t help but grin.
Orrin leveled a deep scowl on him that straightened his back. “Get the hells out o’ me cabin.”
“Yes, sir.” Helzendar slammed his fist to his chest and turned on his heel and left with a wide grin spread across his face.
When he had closed the door behind him, he turned to find his entire group gathered in the hall from the mess room, waiting.
“Well, what ye all be starin’ at?” he said.
Du’Ren Barr opened his arms expectantly. “What the general say?”
Helzendar stood straight and tall. “The five hun’red now be five-hun’red and one.”
The dwarves cheered their prince and raised him up on their shoulders, whisking him off to the rowing stations and singing to his glory.
He rowed with a vigor unmatched by any other dwarf during the entire shift. He didn’t relent, he didn’t back down. His mind, body, and heart matched the beat o
f the drum pounding out the rowing rhythm. With every stroke, he imagined unleashing his power upon the dragons. To kill one meant not only a place in the mountain of the gods, but a seat at their table as well. He would join Haldagozz, his grandfather, and even Ky’Dren himself upon that highest of perches. Songs would be sung of him. Tales would be told. His mother and his sisters would cry for him, and his brothers would be filled with respect and envy.
Helzendar, son of Roakore, would become a legend.
When their shift was up, the dwarves made the switch with the next group and made their way to the bunks opposite the mess hall and other group. Helzendar leaped up into a high hammock swaying with the waters and stared at the ceiling. His mind raced, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
“How many leagues we got to Drakkar? How many shifts?”
Du’Ren had taken the hammock below him. “The lad can’t wait to get there!”
The other dwarves gave a hearty laugh. One of them answered, “’Bout a hundred leagues from Ro’Sar harbor to Drakkar—”
“We be landin’ on Drakkar in twenty hours,” said General Hammerfell from the hall. His grizzled face shone in the light of the single lantern swaying beside him. “That be six more shifts at the oars. I suggest ye get what rest ye can and do what prayin’ need be done.”
He blew out the light and disappeared down the hall, leaving the group in the silent darkness. Helzendar could swear he heard the sound of moving lips, and the names of many gods whispered low.
Chapter 42
Last Words
Tarren awoke to find himself staring at him. At first he thought he was still dreaming, but then his fevered mind cleared and he remembered.
“Wa…water,” he groaned, reaching up with a shaking hand.
The Watcher took his hand and Lunara cupped the back of his neck and helped him to sit up enough to drink from the offered cup. His parched lips quivered on the rim as he drank with effort. The simple act was exhausting. Lunara laid him back down and patted his forehead gently with a cool cloth and began to sing.
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